


BRAM vs. THE HOMOSAPIENS AGENDA

by sparkleloveanna



Series: Creekwood Series [1]
Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Fluff, Gay, I just love this book, I love them both way too much, Im obsessed, Leah on the offbeat, M/M, POV Bram Greenfeld, Pining, Slow Burn, and tHE MOVIE, basically the book from Bram's pov, canon gay stuff, features the emails from the book but I also came up with some of my own, possible book spoilers (the end!), simon is the disaster gay and not Bram if you ask me, spierfeld, we all need this tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 37,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14207979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkleloveanna/pseuds/sparkleloveanna
Summary: Bram Greenfeld is just like you. He's a junior in High School, plays soccer for life and tries to live with divorced parents. He's just like you. Except, he has one huge ass secret.He's gay.He's known for forever but now it seems like the time to come out has arrived since he's practically dating someone - over email.________________________________________________________________________________OR the story of Simon vs the Homo sapiens agenda but from Bram's point of view. Simon is in here (I love him to death), but it's about Bram. Please point out any mistakes!





	1. Chapter 01

01

 

>  
> 
> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Oct 30 at 9:56 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners
> 
>  
> 
> Blue,
> 
> I guess I never tried to pull off something truly scary. My family is all about the funny costumes. We used to get competitive about whose costume would make my dad laugh the hardest. My sister was a trash can one year. Not Oscar the Grouch. Just a trash can full of trash. And I was pretty much a one-trick pony. The boy-in-a-dress concept never got old (until it did, I guess – I was in fourth grade and had this amazing flapper costume, but then I looked in the mirror and felt this electric shock of mortification).  
>  Now, I’ll say I aim for the sweet spot of simplicity and badassery. I can’t believe you’re not dressing up. Don’t you realize you’re throwing away the perfect opportunity to be someone else for an evening?
> 
> Disappointedly yours,  
>  – Jacques

 

I actually let out a full-on laugh. A trash can? Seriously? I pull my legs up to my chest on my desk chair, spinning around myself once while thinking about what to write back.

It’s Friday morning – or should I say Halloween morning – and I should get going or I’ll be late for first period. But this Jacques-guy is taking up all of my attention. I don’t even notice my alarm is going off, again, because I always keep on hitting the snooze button instead of turning it off completely.

I really want to know if Jacques’s going out tonight. Even though, it wouldn’t make a change. I’m stuck at home on candy duty, because my mom has some sort of work party that I know she’s only attending to impress this Jonas-dude she keeps talking about.

I know there’s a party at Garrett’s. Most of the juniors will be there so it’s a good chance to meet Jacques. Except, I don’t want to meet him, yet. I want to know who he is, but I don’t want him to know who I am. Unfair, I know. But I know for myself, it doesn’t really matter who he is or what he looks like or whatever, I feel myself slowly falling for him and I don’t even care if he’s black or white, skinny or fat. I already know him. I’ve been emailing him for months. I just want to know how to picture him for real, because in my mind he’s still this faceless guy.

It’s eight already and I know Garrett*s waiting for me to pick him up. I quickly write a response to Jacques. Good thing that I’m fast on keyboards since I’m writing and working on story ideas every day. Yes, I’m one of those guys that used to write Harry Potter fan fiction. Am I ashamed? Not one bit.

 

***

 

„Man, you are late!“ Garrett slides in the passenger seat. „And why the fuck are you not wearing your costume?“ I guess I should mention that he’s wearing blue overalls over a green turtleneck. A bright green cap is sitting on his head and he grew a mustache. Like, he actually grew a freaking mustache. It looks ridiculous. „I can’t be Luigi without Mario!“

„Luigi is worth as much on his own as he is with Mario. Don’t make him depend on someone else!“, I say and take the left at a green light.

„You’re kidding me.“ Garrett looks at me, his mouth a straight, thin line.

„I am.“ I flash him a quick grin. „I’m already wearing a red shirt, look.“ I lift one hand off the steering wheel. „My overalls are in my bag as well as the cap. I just didn’t have time.“ I’m actually wearing my soccer sweats because they got on quicker than jeans this morning. After emailing Jacques I didn’t have any more time, not even to have breakfast.

Garrett looks actually kind of relieved. „You know, if you’d left me hanging on this like you did with the party–“

„I told you I’d come if I wasn’t on chocolate duty. My mom’s tryna get some with this one dude at work.“

„You know, as a son, it’s kind of your job to cockblock your mom.“

I try to get my mind away from my mom doing the do with a random guy. That’s not something any kid would want to think about, really. „You know, as my mom is a young, 34-year-old woman, who deserves to find a man that makes her happy, it’s kind of my job to not cockblock her.“

Garrett sighs. „You’re right. But you know, you could get some tonight as well. Like, at my party. I don’t even know how many people will be there, but I’m assuming like half the school.“

Garrett doesn’t throw parties that often, but when he does, they’re the biggest and, for that matter, the most destructive. When he threw a new year’s party last year, a sophomore girl actually destroyed an expensive Buddha-statue his mom got in India. Although, I think I might have heard something about those statues being offensive. I don’t know.

„I’ll survive.“ I pull into a free parking lot at school. As soon as I stop the motor a rusty red car pulls in the free spot next to me. 

Simon Spier. 

His sister hops out of the passenger seat and I see him fumbling with his phone and earbuds. The early sunlight is breaking in the glasses sitting on his nose and he has this dimple in his right cheek. He’s really, really cute.

 _Did I mention I’m gay?_ I mean, Simon Spier was definitely not my sexual awakening. It’s kinda weird to think of him like that. He seems so innocent. Not that he’s shy or something, because he’s definitely more outgoing than me, but he just has this pure expression to himself.  
Anyway, he was definitely my first crush. I didn’t even notice it at first. It was just always kind of hard to talk to him. I’m not really much of a talker anyway, except with Garrett, but once someone started a conversation, I could usually follow along. But not with Simon Spier, definitely not.

When he talked to me for the very first time we were freshman and we were both wearing Captain America shirts to class one day.  
„Hey, that’s a cool shirt!“, he said to me, smiling from ear to ear. He still had braces but he looked really adorable with them. And even back then, this dimple got me.

From then on we talked every now and then because I was friends with his friends and we sat at the same lunch table. Except, most of the time, he was talking and I was just doing the awkward nod-along thing, because apparently, I was not able to speak with cute guys even back then.

And that’s pretty damn bad when you’re unquestionable gay.

I change into my Mario costume in the car. It’s not that big of a deal to let my pants down in front of Garrett. First of all, he isn’t paying any attention to me. Second, I know for sure he is not gay. Third, even if he was, I wouldn’t be interested, because he is my best friend and kind of like the brother I never had.

By the time I’m done and get out of my car, Simon is still occupied with his phone. I should probably tap against his window and ask him to come in with us, but I don’t.

Listen, this crush on Simon is still there. And sometimes I get a vibe from him that he’s also into boys. Except he already had three girlfriends. But that’s not the reason why I’m not acting on it – that and the fact that I can’t talk to his cute face. The reason is that I’ve fallen for Jacques. And yes, it happened over email, but if we’re being honest, that’s kind of the only way for my incompetent ass to get a relationship going since talking isn’t an option.

Sometimes I find myself fantasizing about Simon being Jacques and I know, some of it makes sense. There are some parallels but I try to stop myself from picturing him as the guy on the other end of my emails. Because that would mean the more I’m falling for Jacques, the more I would be falling for Simon, and at some point, I might not be able to separate the two. And then, when Jacques would finally come out to me, I’d be disappointed.  
Plus, Simon spends a lot of time with Abby Suso. He also hangs out a lot with Leah Burke, but mostly when Nick Eisner is around, too. The four of them are really good friends, but lately, I’ve seen Simon around Abby more and more without the other two.

„You look like Princess Peach just dumped you“, Garrett says when we arrive at our lockers. „What’s up?“

„I’m fine. Just tired.“ I look at my phone. Partly because I want to know what time it is, partly to check the wireless signal. But it’s disabled once you enter Creekwood High School.

„Alright“, Garrett says, „We should get going to English, otherwise the couch is already packed with cheerleaders dressed as sexy nurses.“

 

We eventually get a spot on the couch, surprisingly though, because we’re already running late. From my place I can watch everyone entering the room after us, laughing about their costumes. Alex Millers has a green painted face and strange contact lenses – he’s an alien, apparently.

Simon takes the desk right in front of me, of course, because it’s not enough for me to already have a minor crush on him, I have to have to stare at his neck for the whole lesson.

He’s wearing cat ears and a tail and Leah, who sits in the desk in front of him, draws him a heart-shaped nose and whiskers with eyeliner. When he turns his head to grin at Nick I almost lose it. He looks so freaking cute it should be illegal. 


	2. Chapter 02

When I get home later that day I find three emails from Jacques. I’m kind of worried something bad happened to him – until I read his response. He made a typo. Then he tried to correct it in his next email and made one all over again, thus the three emails.

I laugh out loud again, just like this morning. It’s a quarter to four. Jacques usually responds in the later evenings. I assume he is part of a club, but I’m trying not to look too deep into it.

I know Simon’s in Drama Club.

I shake my head and hit the reply button.

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Oct 31 at 3:47 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners
> 
>  
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> I hope you had a fun start to your Halloween day! You probably had a simple but badass costume even for school. Like angel wings or cat ears.  
>  Anyway, what are you up to tonight? I told you, I’m not going out, which sucks the more I think about it. I mean, my mom is only going to this work party for her one colleague; she really isn’t a party-goer. Whatever, it’s actually the first Halloween I’m not dressing up for. It feels weird. I hope you have planned something exciting for tonight. Maybe hooking up with some sexy nurse? ;-)
> 
> – Blue 

 

My mother gets home around six and by then, I have dinner ready. I’d like to think of myself as quite the chef. At least my mom is always excited when I’m cooking.

„What’s that?“ She looks over my shoulder, which is getting harder and harder since I’m now almost a head taller than her.

„Couscous with avocado-pecan cream and steamed veggies“, I say, putting a load on her plate.

„Mhm.“ She lets herself fall onto the kitchen bench. „I’m so lucky to have such a sweetheart of a son.“

„You’re only saying that to make up for basically grounding me tonight.“ I sit down opposite her.

„You said you’re alright with it!“

„Just kidding. I am fine with it.“ Okay, I’m low-key lying. „I’ll just use that for the next time you say no to something.“

„You say that as if I’ve ever forbidden you to go out.“ She raises her eyebrows. And she’s right. Usually, my mom is pretty cool with things as long as I stay in the limit of things. Drinking? Fine. Drinking and driving? Absolutely not fine, I’m grounded for a year.

We finish dinner more or less in silence and I volunteer to put the dishes in the washer since she’s already in a rush to get ready.

„What are you dressing up as?“, I ask, putting the leftovers in the fridge.

„You’ll see.“ And with that, she’s gone to the bathroom.

As soon as the door’s shut I leave the kitchen and hop in front of my computer. There’s a new email from Jacques. There’s this feeling again. Like I miss a step on the stairs.

I think about saving the email for later but I assume I will be occupied with all the trick-or-treaters, so I open it right away.

 

 

 

> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Oct 31 at 7:00 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners
> 
>  
> 
> Blue,
> 
> Angel wings, cat ears? I’m a little more creative than that, haha.
> 
> For real, though, school was kind of boring today. I just wanted to get back home in front of my laptop and talk to you all day. Sucks that wireless is disabled at school. I mean, come on, I have a virtual relationship and a blog to run!  
>  Actually, I have something quite awesome planned for tonight. Although, I’m not saying candy duty isn’t awesome. Because it sure is… (I’m still so sorry for you, Blue.)
> 
> Some guy from school apparently throws a Halloween party and my friends want me to come along. I haven’t really been to parties and I hope they’re fun. I mean, I have never had alcohol. Except the obligatory sip of beer from your fathers bottle when you turn sixteen. I remember getting heartburn that night. I’m such a loser.
> 
> However, I hope things work out for your mother? Except you don’t want that, then I’m hoping she realizes this work-dude is just a poopy mcpoop-pants.  
>  And seriously? Sexy nurses? You know me better, Blue. I’m more into hot firemen. ;-)
> 
> – Jacques
> 
> PS: I hope you get to save some candy from the trick-or-treaters. Halloween-flavored Oreos are just the best.
> 
>  

I’m quietly smiling to myself. Hot firemen then. Maybe I should dress up as one and just sneak out to Garrett’s and see who’s ogling me the most. But I won’t do that. I’m 90% positive it’s Garrett’s party Jacque’s attending and he is not stupid. If I would come up in some firemen-gear right after he emailed me his preferences, I’d reveal myself to him.

And I’m not ready for that.

I know, it will eventually happen. If this falling-feeling continues, at least, and if he feels the same way. He sometimes inserts lines in his emails I feel myself losing my breath over. But then again, what if this flirting is just a joke to him?  
I admit that would kinda hurt because, for me, it’s not. It almost feels like I’m going on dates with Jacques whenever we are emailing and sometimes we are just inches away from kissing. And then one of us goes to bed, or it’s school, and we don’t text for a few hours and then the tension has already died down a bit.

It’s not that I’m self-conscious. Not more than any other guy, I guess. There are parts of me I’m very fond of and parts I’d rather trade with someone else. But all in all, I think of myself as an acceptable boy, man, whatever.  
But I’m just scared of what Jacques will think of me when he sees who I am.

I know, I would love him no matter his looks, but what if he doesn’t feel that way? What if he pictured me as this skinny white boy with shining blue eyes, but then it’s actually me?  
No. We can’t meet each other yet. I plan on dropping more and more hints once I feel myself getting ready to reveal my identity.

 

I leave my computer, planning to write back later that night, but right after I finish the dishes, the first kids ring the doorbell. They eye me consciously because I’m not in costume (Mario had to leave after school and I’m back in sweats), but they don’t say anything since I’m letting all of them take a handful of sweets.

Mom comes out of the bathroom when I close the door. She has her curly hair up in a knot and is dressed in a tight black dress that hugs every curve of her body. When she smiles at me, I can see the vampire teeth she put in, and there’s an actual drop of blood drawn on her chin. Her skin is very glossy, kind of sparkling almost. I assume she dumped a brush into her highlighter and went all over the parts of skin that were showing. And she even put in contact lenses and now her eyes are of a scary red color.

„You look terrifying“, I say.

„What?“ Her face drops. „Is it bad? Too much? I knew I should just have worn those devil horns.“

„No! Mom, I thought that’s what you wanted me to say since it’s Halloween.“ I let out a laugh. „Really, though? I think you’re a very impressive vampire and you look very pretty.“

She smiles at me and does a pirouette. „Thanks, honey. I should get going now. Have a fun night, don’t stay up for me. Leave some candy for the kids!“ She kisses my cheek.

And before I know, I’m left alone.

 


	3. Chapter 03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, Garrett is a really wise lil shit in here and I love him.  
> 

I end up sleeping in on Saturday and when I wake up, I have several new messages from Garrett. But no email from Jacques. I wonder if he had fun partying and if he actually hooked up with some hot fireman.

_Garrett: Dude, party was ACES!!_

_Garrett: so sorry you missed out man_

_Garrett: Leah looked kinda hot_

_Garrett: whats fruit basket btw??_

I roll my eyes at Garrett, but can’t help and grin.

_Bram: It’s a manga, but if you’re curious, just ask the mighty Google._

_Garrett: cant believe were almost in 2018 and you’re still calling it the Mighty Google_

Instead of replying I get in front of my computer. I actually ended up watching Netflix yesterday, since next to no trick-or-treaters came by, so it’s still on standby. I open up Gmail, typing in my username and password.

I got no notification on my phone so I’m not surprised when I don’t find an answer from Jacques. I decide to just email him again. I don’t even know if that is weird, or if it comes off as desperate. There are no such rules as ‚no double-texting‘ with Jacques. In fact, at least for me, I am very happy whenever he double-texts me.

***

By 2:30 pm I go over to Garrett’s. He’s still occupied with cleaning the house up before his family gets home that night, and I decide to help him.

„I owe you a pizza, dude“, he says as I hold up a giant trash bag for him to put in all the junk.

„Yes, you do“, I nod, „Anyway, how many people were over?“

„Honestly, I don’t know. More and more kept coming in but some left early.“ He shrugs.

„And what was this message about Leah?“, I ask and put the bag aside. Someone threw up over the living room carpet, but I know Garrett’s an expert in getting rid of those kinds of stains.

„I don’t even know, man“, he sighs, „I mean, you know, she’s usually not my type.“

I know what he means. I know exactly. Garrett’s usually all over cheerleaders or tall skinny model-kind of girls. Not that there are that many in Creekwood. And Leah? She’s definitely none of them.

Leah’s bigger than other girls. She has more butt, more hips, and more boobs than even my own mother. She has just more of everything, but honestly? She’s still beautiful. I don’t know a reason for her to not be called that? Why is skinny the default for pretty? And why is straight the default for sexuality? I’ve realized Leah going kind of into herself whenever Taylor Metternich brings up her thigh gap in class. God, not even I knew that girls worried about something like that? What’s that gap even good for? It’s not like you’re hanging a necklace in there or something.

„You know, she got this giant–“

„That’s a shitty thing you’re going to say“, I stop him, „Nothing that’s giant on Leah is bad.“

„Dude, I was talking about her hair.“ Garrett raises his eyebrows. „You realized, she’s got a lot of it, right? Really long and wavy. And yesterday, she had half of it up in a giant knot. And I don’t know, it suited her face.“

I nod.

„I’ve grown out of that stage where I only think skinny girls are pretty, or whatever that was“, he says and sits down on the couch, exhausted from rubbing cleanser into the carpet, „I mean, I never thought fat girls were ugly. But I never thought I’d want to date one, either.“

„You want to date Leah?“

Pink circles are spreading on his cheeks. „I don’t know. I never really talk to her, anyway. What I’m trying to say is that there was an old Garrett, who was kinda a shitty person, because he defined a girl’s beauty by how slim her waist is. Even though he didn’t realize he was doing that. And now something clicked and I just don’t think that way anymore. And I don’t know if it's because of Leah. Maybe. But I don’t really care for a girl’s body shape as long as she’s healthy.“

I sit down next to him and pet him on the back. „Nice speech, bro.“

He flashes me a quick smile. His cheeks are full on red now, and his ears, too.

Garrett and Leah are basically polar opposites. I know she’s into drawing and being home and whatnot and Garrett is a soccer-player and outgoing and really likes parties. I don’t know if he and Leah would work. I don’t even know if Leah is interested in him or in boys in general.  
And then it occurs to me. Nick and Garrett had been switching places at our lunch table for the past weeks because Nick wanted to sit next to Abby. Everyone knew that Nick was into Abby. Everyone but Abby. However, that shifting lead to Garrett sitting next to Leah. They probably started talking to each other at one point. I wouldn’t have realized because I’m usually all concentrating on my food, so I don’t dare to stare at cute Simon Spier during lunch.

That means Garrett basically just told me a secret. Obviously, he has told me that he was into girls before, because that’s a thing dudes talk about, but this feels different. More intimate. Maybe it’s because we’re older now, or maybe it’s because Garrett’s experiencing real feeling toward Leah.

„Garrett, can I tell you something?“ The words are out of my mouth before I can even think about it. Am I really going to do this? I didn’t think this through. I didn’t think about this at all, to be honest.

„Sure, bud. What’s up?“

„I am gay.“

Three words. That’s all it took and now my life is completely changed. What’s even happening? I didn’t plan on coming out to anyone any time soon. But I want to be able to talk to my best friend about potential love interests, and not just his, but mine as well. I should really have thought about this more, though. What if he abandons me right away? Or is angry for me because I was telling him that Grace Hettel looked really beautiful last week?

„Oh, that’s…cool“, he says, looking at me.

I’m staring at the couch table that we moved closer to our legs so we could fight the puke-stain better. My hands are shaking. It happened. It happened and I’m not dead. Did he just say it’s cool?

„Bram. Dude.“ He lets out a shaky laugh. „Come on, don’t make that face. I know when you’re about to cry.“

I turn my head toward him. The red has gone from his face and he’s smiling at me. „Are you still my friend?“ I know I sound like a stupid child.

„What? Of course! What does you being gay have to do with us being friends?“

„I…I don’t know.“ I try to swallow the dryness in my mouth.

„Oh god, you’re making me do a speech all over again.“ He straightens his back. „Listen, I don’t care, okay? Or, I mean, I do care that you are gay. I want you to tell me about it if you want to. But I don’t care that you’re gay because you are my best friend. Dude, you could be into anything and I’d still love you.“

An actual sob escapes my mouth. That’s what happens when I don’t plan things out.

Garrett gives me a quick hug. „So, I assume you’re telling me this right now because there is a guy you like.“

I bite down on my bottom lip. I’m not actually crying, it’s just a few tears escaping my eyes. I wipe them away with the arm of my hoodie. „Actually, yes. I’m emailing this guy and he’s…he’s nice.“

„Nice?“

„Cute.“

„Wow, you’re incredibly bad at being gay, Bram“, he chuckles, „You can tell me he’s hot or sexy or whatever, it’s fine. I do have an objective eye, okay?“

I have to roll my eyes but at the same time fight a laugh. „It’s not like that. I don’t know who he is. I don’t even know his real name. All I do know is that he’s a junior at CHS.“

„Oh wow, and you met him on Tinder or what?“

„What, no! Remember this post on creeksecrets? Yeah, that was me. And this guy, he calls himself Jacques, replied to it.“

„Oh. Alright.“ Garrett nods. „And you like him.“

„I do.“

„But you don’t know who he is.“

„I don’t.“

„What if it’s a joke? What if someone saw that post and went ‚I’m gonna fool that kid‘“, he says.

Alright, I have thought about this. Especially in the beginning of Jacques’s and my emails. Back when this falling-feeling wasn’t there and I was still able to go through my day without thinking about the lips of a stranger. But Jacques built himself up over all these emails, a complex person, he couldn’t be made up by anyone.

„He’s a real person“, I say with conviction.

Garrett drives one of his hands over his chin. There’s a faint stubble there, but I’m glad he shaved that mustache as soon as he got home yesterday.

„I don’t want to know who he is“, I add, „Not yet, at least. Oh, and by the way, you can’t tell anyone about the gay-ting. Or Jacques.“

„I won’t, I promise. It’s your thing, I wasn’t even thinking about telling anyone“, he says, „Speaking of it, have you thought about coming out?“

„To my parents? Yes. And I know deep down that they’re gonna be fine with it. But the whole school? Everyone?“ I sip in a breath of air. „I’m not ready for that.“

„That’s fine. I guess. It’s still a big thing here in Georgia. Although, I don’t know if people still give others shit about being gay.“

„They do“, I say, „They definitely do.“

„Right. So just know, if you’d come out and anyone gave you shit, I’d beat them up.“

„Wow, you’re in full-on knight-mode right now.“

„With pleasure.“ He winks at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably gonna update later again today since the first Chapters are fairly short and things haven't really picked up yet :-)


	4. Chapter 04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments literally make my day <3
> 
> Also, I literally just merged 2 Chapters together for this, because my Chapters are soooo short?? But things are picking up now, I promise :-)

Jacques and I email back and forth all weekend. He seems to be as desperate to know how to picture me as I am. But I can’t. We can’t reveal each other’s identities yet. I just did this Coming Out Thing to Garrett and although it went well, it was still awkward. 

I know, telling Jacques who I am does not mean I have to come out, but it would get so much closer by that. And I don’t want that. I want to decide when to come out and I want to do it for myself, not because I want to be with Jacques. Although, I do.

 

Wednesday is gender bender day, which basically means I’m dressing up as a cheerleader. Garrett laughs at our matching uniforms and I return it half-heartedly. Truth is, I’m feeling very weird in a dress. 

You know how many people assume you’re more feminine when you’re gay? Yeah, no. Being gay doesn’t mean you’re more feminine. As well as being more feminine doesn’t make you gay. But most people still don’t get simple things like that. Like, I could be straight and still dress up in a dress every day if I’d want to. 

But I don’t. Fact is that I’m a guy and I do like these things that get stamped as ‚masculine‘ or whatever, and it happens that I’m gay. No one but Garrett knows the latter but I’m kind of afraid that once I come out, everyone will remember how I wore a dress on gender bender day and then make fun of me for that, or expect me to wear it more often, which, as I said, not my cuppa tea.

I’m glad most of the students participate in gender bender day so the awkwardness of it all slowly fades once everyone laughed at each other. I actually get quite some compliments on my legs from girls.

„Seriously, Greenfeld, you can rock some miniskirts!“, Nick Eisner laughs.

 

We’re watching _Twelfth Nigh_ t in first period and Nick, Garrett and I have taken over the couch in the back of Mr. Wise’s room again. I like my spot there, even though it means basically staring a hole into the back of Simon’s head.  
I smile at the colorful hair clips that kind of go unnoticed in his usual bed head.

Leah wears a full-on floral dress that shows off quite some cleavage. She ain’t about gender stereotypes. Garrett ogles her for the whole lesson and I can’t help but keep on smiling.

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 6 at 4:11 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Bending genders more like bending my nerves
> 
>  
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> I hope you had fun dressing up as a girl. It’s so much fun, isn’t it?
> 
> Except it’s not and I’m being sarcastic. I don’t know how you feel about the whole being-gay-doesn’t-make-you-more-feminine thing, but dressing up as a girl makes me kind of self-conscious. Like I have I’M GAY tattooed right underneath where my skirt ends and suddenly everyone starts making fun of me.
> 
> Thing is, yes, I am gay. That means I’m into dudes. Then why are there always some people asking a gay couple ‚Oh, and who is the woman in your relationship?‘? Like, the point is that there is no woman. That’s literally what gay means! And feminine and gay? They are not synonyms? Like my dad could dress up in a pink, glittery dress and still have dates with women.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for that rage. I had to get it off my chest and you always feel like the best person to talk to.
> 
> Thanks for listening.  
>  – Blue

 

 

 

> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Nov 6 at 7:06 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Bending genders more like bending my nerves
> 
>  
> 
> Blue,
> 
> I want that subject line tattooed on my forehead, seriously.
> 
> I know exactly how you feel. Like I get it. Because so many people still think of gays as basically stereotypical girls with penises it feels goddamn weird to dress up as one. It kind of feels like satisfying all the homophobes because they’re right in their thinking. Which they are not.
> 
> Actually, I can’t even tell you if I’m into the ‚typical boy-stuff‘. I mean, I have sisters so I got to play with dolls a lot when I was little. My parents always let me play with whatever I wanted. It was toy cars one day and Barbie the next.  
>  So, the real question is, _why am I gay and not bi_? I’m getting this right, am I? ;-)
> 
> –Jacques

 

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 6 at 10:01 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Bending genders more like bending my nerves
> 
>  
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> Great minds think alike.
> 
> Good night.  
>  – Blue

  
***

 

It’s homecoming on Friday and the other soccer boys and I sit next to each other on the top bleachers. We have a good view from here. Football might be my least favorite sport, but Homecoming is still a nice thing. Maybe because almost every student comes to watch the game and it feels kind of like I’m part of a strong unity. It feels like we’re all part of something and all the same, although we're all different from each other.

My heart skips a beat when I see Nick Eisner coming up to us followed by Simon. He has a faint smile on his lips when he greets us. I wish I wasn’t sitting on the edge of the bleacher next to Garrett, because that means Simon is going to sit next to him and not me.

But there’s not enough room anyway and Simon announces to go and sit with Drama Club people instead. I watch him leave and I’m _this_ close to actually following him. Except that would be like wrapping a giant rainbow flag around my shoulders.

I check my phone and am surprised that I do have wireless signal. I didn’t know because I’d never take my phone outside with me on the field during soccer practice.  
And then I do something I usually never do. I open the Gmail app on my phone and start writing an email to Jacques in public.

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 8 at 6:31 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Homecoming
> 
>  
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> I really hope I don’t make any typos in this message. Can you imagine, I didn’t even have the gmail app on my phone before we started texting.
> 
> Anyway, I’m currently at the Homecoming game. It hasn’t started yet. This is actually the first time I don’t buzz because of the amount of fun I’m having. I’m with my friends, obviously, but something feels off. I just have the strange need to talk to you. Out of all places, I get this feeling at Homecoming.
> 
> Maybe because talking to you kind of feels like coming home?
> 
> – Blue 

„You texting this guy you mentioned?“ Garrett leans over and squints at my phone.

I lock the screen after hitting send. „Yep.“

„Is he here?“ Garrett speaks in a lower voice than usual so no one can actually understand us but everyone sees that we’re having a conversation.

„He might be. I don’t know.“ I mimic the volume of his voice. „I wish I’d know who he is. I really do.“

„Me too“, Garrett says, „I wanna see your type.“

I roll my eyes and gently slap the back of his head.

 

***

 

I’m back home on the couch when I get the notification of a new email. I fight myself out of the blanket I covered myself with. „I’mm going to bed“, I murmur to my mother who is already half passed out on the other end of the couch.

In my room, I turn my computer on and open my email account.

 

 

> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Nov 8 at 11:36 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Homecoming
> 
>  
> 
> Blue,
> 
> I know what you mean. I sometimes get that sudden urge to talk to you, too. Would probably be easier if we just revealed our identities. Then we could just hang out, you know.
> 
> I’m just kidding, I know you’re not ready to tell me who you are. And that means I remain a mystery myself.
> 
> Ha ha. Okay, enough. Seriously though, it was my first Homecoming and it actually was a lot of fun. I guess following the main stream isn’t too bad after all. 
> 
> Also, I agree, emailing you feels more like home than laying in my own bed sometimes. Maybe because you know the real me. The real, rambling, incredibly gay Me. Except you don’t know my name.
> 
> Too bad.  
>  – Jacques

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 8 at 11:50 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Homecoming
> 
>  
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> I love the real, rambling, incredibly gay You, Jacques. I’m very glad I got to meet you.  
>  Just know, that I’m being completely honest in my emails, too. I’m also the real, gay Me here. (I actually couldn’t come up with another adjective for myself, so it sounds kind of lame.)
> 
> I would love to hang out with you. And we will. At some point in the future. And I kind of hope we do more than just talking then.
> 
> Anyway, I’m getting kind of hungry right now. I’m actually thinking about stealing some of the Oreos my mom bought to bring with her to work. (In case you’re interested: The thing she had going with that dude is over. She said something about him dancing at two parties, I don’t know.)
> 
> I had dinner like almost six hours ago. I think there should be a name for an extra meal that you have in the middle of the night. Another name than ‚snack‘ obviously, because I’m about to eat so many Oreos that you can’t call it a snack anymore. But I don’t know, I guess it doesn’t count as anything since Oreos are not really part of any important food group (other than candy which is totally related to snacks).
> 
> I guess I’m kind of rambling, too. Good night, Jacques.
> 
> – Blue

 

***

I spent most of my time this weekend at home working on an essay for Mr. Wise. But I can’t stop thinking about one thing: It was Jacques's first Homecoming. He is a junior, like me, but he didn’t come to Homecoming in the past. Now, I have been there every time since I began High School, so I pretty much know who usually comes and who doesn’t. And so I happen to know that it was also Simon’s first time going to Homecoming. And Nick’s, too, but Nick radiates this straight-vibe like literally no one else. Another parallel between Jacques and Simon I see.

But I have to stop looking into it. There is no way the universe would be _this_ kind. Making my crush be gay? Maybe, not impossible. But making my crush be gay and the person I have been emailing and falling for for the past months? No way.

 


	5. Chapter 05

 

> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Nov 11 at 11:45 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: all of the above
> 
>  
> 
> Blue,
> 
> Okay, first of all, Oreos absolutely qualify as a food group. Second of all, they’re the only food group that matters.

 

I feel a smile forming from my right all the way over to my left ear when I read the email on Tuesday after school. I’m laying on my bed, procrastinating on my calculus homework.

Jacques and I haven’t been emailing over the weekend. I was busy with my essay and my mom who’s now watching Grey’s Anatomy on a loop to have an excuse to cry her eyes out. She’s still not over that work-guy. So it happens that Jacques's only ever answers my last email on Monday evening when I was already fast asleep.

And now it’s Tuesday and I’m too lazy to get up from my bed to my computer, so I text him back on my phone again.

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 12 at 5:37 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: all of the above
> 
>  
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> It’s true, I hand no idea I was talking to such an Oreo connoisseur. The Shoreo sounds like a magical place.
> 
> So, Doctor, how many servings of Oreo products are necessary for a balanced diet?
> 
> I’m getting the impression that you have a bit of a sweet tooth.
> 
> – Blue

 

Now I’m actually craving Oreos. Or I’m craving Jacques. By now, the two are one and the same – which is kind of weird. I get up and throw a hoodie over my head.

Mom lifts her head up from a pillow when I cross the living room on my way to the door. „What are you up to, Mister?“ I can still spot faint traces of tears on her cheeks.

„I’m getting Chick-Fil-A. You want something?“ I have my hand on the doorknob.

She shakes her head. „I’m fine. Take care.“

„Will do.“ I leave the house for my car and take the direct route to the nearest Chick-Fil-A. Truth is, they serve the best Oreo milkshakes.

 

With a huge cup full of deliciousness I’m back in my car only minutes later but I’m not yet satisfied. There’s a supermarket nearby and when I pull into an empty parking spot I see the Spier’s car not too far away from me.

I swallow a gulp of milky Oreos. Alright, maybe it’s not Simon. It’s probably just his parents doing their weekly shopping. And if I end up seeing Simon I can just do the I-know-you-from-school-so-I’m-giving-you-a-quick-smile-and-nod thing when I pass him by.

 

Inside the store, I head straight for the sweets section. I ate up all of our candy stocks on Friday night and while I might not have such a big sweet tooth like Jacques, I still can not survive without the occasional sugar-high.

I’m still sipping on my milkshake when a trusty mess of dark blonde hair enters my field of view. My straw catches air so I make this awkward slurping-sound.

Simon looks up from the cookies he’s been eyeing. „Oh. Hi, Bram.“

„Hi“, I press out, the straw still between my teeth. Mentally slapping myself I put the milkshake away from my mouth. „What are you doing here?“

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I never talk to cute boys. I mean, what would Simon do in a supermarket? 

He flashes me a dimply smile. „Oh, you know, just enjoying the show. Heard there’s going to be a Mariah Carey concert in the meat section.“

„For real? We better hurry up then.“

I’m so glad the cute smile is staying on his cute face. That dimple makes me weak, seriously. And he’s wearing pajama bottoms. Pastel blue with dogs on them.

„Nice pants“, I say and try not to blush. Good thing when you have dark skin: Blushing isn’t that obvious. „Is it a tribute to your dog?“

„You know I have a dog?“

„Uhm, I guess you mentioned it at some point. And I assume it’s a Golden Retriever judging by your pajamas.“ Oh God, this is already embarrassing.

Simon drives one hand through his hair; his wonderful messy, kind of amber colored hair. „You’re right. His name is Bieber.“

„Like Justin?“

„My sister had a phase.“

„Obviously.“

He laughs and it’s the most adorable sound ever. „For real though, I need some motivation to finish my calculus homework. And I figured all the Halloween-flavored Oreos are still on crazy sale so I might as well stock up on them.“

„A wise decision since Halloween-flavor is clearly the best.“ I stoop down to grab two packets of them and throw one over to him. Luckily he catches it.

„True. I’ve been literally saying that forever.“ He rolls his eyes. „But my friends still argue that nothing beats Birthday Cake-flavor.“

I let out a laugh. „Birthday Cake is too basic. You can get that all year around.“

„Exactly. They just don’t appreciate the rarity of the Halloween-flavor which just makes it win over everything.“

„You always want what you can’t have, I guess.“

„Poetic.“ He gets another Halloween-Oreo-packet. „Don’t judge me, I’m a giant Oreo-connoisseur and I basically inhale them.“

My heart skips a beat. Oreo connoisseur are literally _my words_. That can’t be a coincidence. I’ve never heard Simon use words like _connoisseur_ ever, he must’ve gotten that from someone. _Me_.

„Well.“ _Simon, are you Jacques? Please tell me it’s you who I have been emailing. Please tell me you’re gay_. „I’m not judging you but maybe you should also get something other than Oreo for a balanced diet.“

„Says the one with an Oreo milkshake from Chick-fil-A“, he observes, pointing at the cup in my hand.

 _Well, I’ve been told that Oreo is the only food group that matters so here I am_.

„I got a craving“, I shrug.

„Believe me, I got you.“ He scoots down and compares two flavors of chips with one another. He doesn’t look at me when he adds, „Did you know Chick-fil-A donates money to screw over gay people or something?“

„What?“

I see his cheeks turning a light shade of pink when he gets up again. „Yeah, my sister Alice told me.“

I lower my hand with the milkshake even more. I’m feeling kind of guilty now.

„Anyway, I think I’m settling for the Oreos and some chips. Hope that’ll help me with my math problems. See you tomorrow at lunch then.“

_No, don’t leave! I don’t want you to think I’m supporting some company screwing over gays!_

„Alright, see you!“ And to top it all off I wave at him with my cup.

 

***

 

The next day, Garrett talks me into joining him on a run after school. I’m a soccer player so I should technically be alright with running a few miles. But since I’ve spent the past weeks mostly eating cookies and emailing some guy, who might possibly be Simon Spier, instead of exercising, I’m a little slow on my feet.

Here’s the thing, I’m pretty certain that Simon is Jacques. There are just too many parallels to be coincidences. But I don’t exactly know how I feel about it. On-top-of-the-world-happy of course, because I’ve been having this crush on Simon since forever, but also kind of weird. It’s strange that I don’t know Simon, the guy who sits across from me at lunch, but I know Jacques, technically the same boy, who I have never personally talked to, so well.

„Where’s your mind at, bro?“ Garrett jogs backward and raises his eyebrows at me.

„I totally screwed that algebra test today“, I dodge, not really looking him in the eyes.

„Since _screwed_ means at least 80% in Bram-language, you’re all good.“

I let a sigh out that I’ve been holding ever since we started our run. „Jacques. That guy I really like?“

Garrett doesn’t bat an eye. „Yeah? You know who he is now?“

„I think I do“, I say, letting my pacing drop a little, „He didn’t tell me, but I think I figured it out.“

„Are you going to tell me?“ Garrett falls into a fast walking pace next to me, steadying his hands on his hip.

„Eventually. I’m not 100% sure yet and before accusing anyone of anything…“

„Got you“, he says, „But I noticed something.“

„What?“ My jog dies down and I come to a stop in the middle of an empty street.

„Simon Spier.“ Garrett ruffles his hair. „He’s giving you looks, man.“

„Like the looks you give Leah?“

„Touché, Greenfeld!“ He points one finger at me. „Seriously, though. You know anything about him being into guys?“

„I don’t.“ I feel my cheeks heating up a little bit. _I mean, I hope he is_. I’m not going to tell Garrett about my crush on Simon. Eventually, if he really turns out to be Jacques, I might actually shout it from the rooftops. But if he isn’t…that crush has to die, because I’m already basically taken by Jacques. 

„I thought he had something going on with Abby but it’s just obvious that she’s into Nick by now“, Garrett says.

That’s true. Even I have seen it. Abby and Nick are basically undressing each other with their eyes during lunch. It’s not nice to watch when you’re eating. And when you’re a sexually-frustrated gay teenager in the closet.

„But then, I remember Simon dating Anna last year, didn’t he?“

„Well“, I say, „Even I almost kissed some girl in that soccer camp in middle school.“

„Yeah, Bram, except you totally chickened out and hid behind the fridge. God, I remember that! You were so freaking skinny, man!“ He swings his arms back and forth. „But Simon and Anna actually kissed and all that.“

I shrug. There’s this sinking feeling in my stomach. I remember seeing Anna and Simon coming into the cafeteria together one day last year, holding hands. Anna had about three inches on Simon and her always wearing these plateau converse didn’t exactly help.  
But when they sat next to each other, they actually looked like a decent couple.  
I felt so heart-broken that day. Mentally, I had hoped, almost prayed, that Simon would magically turn out to be into boys. But that didn’t seem to be the reality. I tried to analyze their kisses – there weren’t a lot of them, admittedly, and they mostly happened behind closed doors. But those that I saw seemed real. Like he was actually into her.

„Hey, man, I’m gonna go back home“, I say, „Looks like it’s gonna rain soon.“

„Yeah“, Garrett agrees, „Sorry if me talking about Simon was weird.“

„It wasn’t. Why would it be?“

„I don’t know. It’s just…“ He suddenly swings an arm around my shoulders. „Since you told me, I’m kind of looking out, you know… Like, I want you to be happy.“

I have to smile a little. „Yeah, don’t do that, maybe. I am happy.“

„With your pen-pal?“

„Believe it or not“, I answer.

 

***

 

„What do you mean _The Wifi is down_?“ I’m standing in the kitchen, hands pressed on the aisle, facing my mother. 

„It stopped working, I don’t know.“ She raises her hands in defense. „The router must’ve broken somehow. I already called someone. They’re fixing it tomorrow morning.“

„So there’s no internet?“

„I basically just told you that about three times.“

I let myself fall onto one of our barstools on the aisle. Being without internet shouldn’t mean the end of the world to me. Except it kind of does because I can’t the possible new email from Jacques. I can’t even use my phone because the wireless signal in my neighborhood is pretty non-existent.

„Do you have an assignment or something?“, she asks, „Like an essay you have to submit via email?“

I snap out of my thoughts. „Wha–… No, I don’t. It’s fine. I’m going to bed now.“

„It’s like half eight, Bram“, she says.

„Well, we have no internet!“


	6. Chapter 06

I agreed to have dinner at Waffle House after school tonight, so I’m stuck without internet for even longer. I mean, there is internet, but there is no way I’m going to read an email from Jacques around David Robinson or Michael Bardon.

Michael currently tries to get the waitress's cellphone number. But she’s obviously already in college and more than not interested in his young, white ass.

Don’t get me wrong, I like David and Michael. We play soccer together and they are my friends, but they are also kind of annoying from time to time. Garrett fits in with them perfectly. Except he manages not to annoy the crap out of me. And that makes him the only one at the table.

„Dude, what’s up?“ David ruffles my hair. „Eat up your waffles.“

„I’m done“, I say, „I ate like five pounds of them.“

Michael makes a joke but I don’t really listen. I got a notification for a new email this morning as soon as my phone caught some wireless signal. But once I got to the school parking lot I had no time left to read it. And school itself was busy. I had two tests today, and I had forgotten about both. I’m about to kill my GPA, there I said it.

„Hey“ I’m kind of wiggling in my seat. „Garrett, I sort of have to leave now. Homework, study, the usual. You got a ride?“

Garrett shares a look with David and nods. I shake hands all around and then I’m finally free.

 

***

 

I’m convinced I have never, ever gotten home that quick. I pull into my usual parking spot on our porch, jump out and get into the house. But then, all of a sudden, I stop. Something’s different.

My mom’s coat isn’t hung up next to the door and her shoes are laying around in the way. And there is anther coat. Then I here laughter from down the hallway.

_Oh man. Oh God, no._

Seriously, I’m fine with my mom hooking up with guys. Like, she’s in her thirties, what am I gonna say? But I never ever want to know anything about it unless she plans on making him part of our life.

But here she is. Canoodling with him in the bathroom. _The bathroom_. Honestly? Out of all places.

The smartest way of dealing with this would probably to just go into my room, lock the door and pretend none of this ever happened. But the thing is, my room is next to the bathroom. And I’m not about these noises right next to my head.

I sit down on the couch. I can still hear them. Man. I pull my phone out of my pocket. It barely has 20% left because, of course, I forgot to charge it over night. At least I get a wifi signal, so I can finally read Jacques’s response.

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 13 at 7:55 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Sweet tooth?
> 
> Blue,
> 
> I can’t imagine why you’d think I had a sweet tooth? I’m more of a salty person, really. ;-)
> 
> All right – I have a sneaking suspicion that you’re not 100% committed to your Oreo diet. The guidelines are pretty basic. No excuses. Breakfast is obviously an Oreo granola bar or Oreo-Pop-Tart.

 

I scrunch my nose. Seriously, no one likes these Oreo-flavored granola bars. They’re just gross. An evidence why sweets should not be paired with something healthy.

 

> No they’re not gross. Shut up. They’re amazing. Lunch should be Oreo pizza with an Oreo milkshake and a couple of those Oreo truffles my mom makes (a.k.a. the most delicious freaking things in the universe). Dinner is deep-fried Oreos served on top of Oreo-ice cream, and for a drink, it’s Oreos dissolved in milk. No water. Only Oreo milk. Dessert can be Oreos straight up. Sound reasonable? It’s for your health, Blue.  
> I swear to God, typing this is actually making me hungry. This totally used to happen to me when I was younger. Isn’t it funny the way you fantasize about junk food when you’re a kid? It’s really all-consuming. I guess you have to obsess about something before you know about sex.
> 
> – Dr. Jacques

 

I bite down onto my bottom lip. This email doesn’t really make me hungry (I really ate enough Oreos over the past couple of days), but it makes me fantasize about Jacques thinking about sex. And it makes me think about sex. And it makes me think about sex with Jacques.

I’m not going to text him back from my phone, and totally not when my mom is having fun next door.

I end up doing my homework laying on the couch while the TV is on. I try bullshitting my way through a math problem and the answer I get in the end is absolutely not right. But I don’t even care. All I want is to get into my room and answer Jacques’s email.

 

***

 

It’s already past ten when I get company in the living room. Or more like: My mom tries to sneak her visitor out secretly but I’m laying on the couch pretty much on display with a perfect view on whoever leaves or enters the house.

The guy she’s with is actually quite handsome. As far as you can say that as a teenager about a man in his forties. He’s tall and blonde and has an actual beard. But he also flashes me a nice smile when he sees me, so my mom must’ve told him about her son.

„You’re Abraham!“, he says, awkwardly shifting his weight from on leg to the other, lifting up his coat from the back of a chair.

„Bram.“ I nod at him.

„Bram, that’s Paul“, says my mom. She seems really taken aback by the fact that I’m home. She must’ve forgotten the time, because she knows I’m always home pretty much after dawn hits. „Uhm, we met a couple of times at the gas station.“

„Meaning I am the guy working there“, he grins and nudges mom in the side.

„Cool.“ I’m really trying to focus more on the news that are currently on TV than the fact that this dude literally just slept with my mother.

„Anyway, I gotta go“, Paul says and gives me a quick wave. „See ya around, Bram.“

Oh God forbid. I return it half-heartedly.

Mom closes the door behind him, waiting a full minute before she turns around and glares at me guiltily. „I am sorry.“

„Yeah, no, can we, like, not talk about it?“ I focus my eyes on the TV.

She sits down on the chair her coat still lays upon. She’s wearing sweats and a man’s hoodie. Alright, he’s leaving behind traces, that’s were we are already.

„Are the two of you, like, a thing?“, I ask without looking at her.

„Uhm, I mean, would that be alright?“

„You’re old enough, aren’t you?“ I sit up. „But I thought you were still sad about that Jonas-guy.“

„Yeah, well, Paul is good at cheering me up.“

„Alright. _Enough_.“ I grab my backpack. „I’m fine with it. Just let me know whenever you guys…hang out next time.“

She’s blushing underneath her dark skin, I can clearly see that. „Right. Sorry again. I love you.“

„Love you, too.“ I stand up. „Good night.“ And with that, I can finally get into my room and in front of my computer.

Except I do everything else before. I unpack and pack my bag for the next day. I change into comfy clothes. I brush my teeth.Then I carefully lock my door behind me and climb in front of the brightly lit screen. I log in to my email account and click on the response button.

I ramble together a paragraph about the one bad experience I made with Oreos and a Tilt-A-Whirl, then I’m staring at the screen. It’s dark around me and the light of it seems to get more and more blinding. I think about a way how I can transfer the thought I had all evening into a text that wouldn’t scare anyone off.

 

> I have to admit I like to imagine you as a kid fantasizing about junk food. I also like to imagine you now fantasizing about sex.  
> I can’t believe I just wrote that. I can’t believe I’m hitting send.
> 
> – Blue

 

Now this could either go really well or really bad. But in that moment, I don’t even care. Because I do like to fantasize about Jacques thinking about sex. And suddenly Jacques has the face of Simon. The glasses, the messy bed head, the dimple – everything.

I get into bed.

I want to meet Jacques so bad right now, and by Jacques I totally mean Simon in that moment. I can imagine him smiling at me so vividly. Holding eye contact, always one second longer than he needs to. I’ve never really imagined what it would be like to actually kiss him. That sounds strange, since I have this crush on him, but it’s been mostly innocent, really. Except now I’m imagining what kissing him would be like. What his lips would feel like against mine and an actual shiver runs down my spine.

I touch my face with my one hand that isn’t occupied otherwise and imagine Simon touching me. It’s nothing near innocent what I’m picturing him doing right now. He’s sitting on top of me and we’re kissing and he tastes so, so much better than everything I have ever tasted. And I’m definitely not planning to hide behind a fridge. Then his lips wander down my neck. I trace it with my left hand.

I feel myself getting close already. I imagine his hands everywhere. Cupping my face, sliding under my shirt, even in my pants. I let a rather deep sigh out. I’m so close. It feels like my whole body is loaded with electricity and a single drop of water is about to light me up into a full firework. _Jacques_. _Simon_.

And there is the firework. And it’s brighter and more colorful than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe :3


	7. Chapter 07

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so you're getting a really long Chapter now because I'll probably won't post again until tomorrow ._.  
> Also, I just finished this story, and I'm both proud and sad, and I LOWKEY want to write a senior-year sequel, because...I'm just trash at this point.
> 
> anyway THANKS FOR ALL THE KUDOS AND COMMENTS <3

Simon’s birthday is the next week on the 17th. It’s his _Golden Birthday_ , Abby says, as Simon turns seventeen on the seventeenth. Per tradition, Leah brings a giant sheet cake that’s part chocolate, part vanilla. I strap a party hat to my head and take approval of one piece. It’s delicious. 

I can’t believe Simon is actually older than me. It might only be two months, but still. I’m not seventeen until January. Not only is Simon about a head shorter than me, he’s also tiny in general. Not that he’s like, really skinny. He’s average, as far as I can tell, but he just has a rather delicate frame. His shoulders are obviously broader than the ones of the girls but they’re not as broad as mine or Garretts. And he has really thin wrists and fingers.

 _Okay, I need to stop staring at his fingers_.

„Hey, Bram“, Garrett says, „Nick and I thought about staying another hour or two after school, just kicking some balls on the field. Getting back into it.“

We have soccer practice once a week at the moment, but inside since it’s getting more and more chilly outside. The proper soccer season doesn’t start until next year, which I’m fine with, because when it eventually does start, I’m staying another two hours at school _every single day_. Well, at least I’ll get back into shape.

„You in?“, Nick asks.

I feel Simon’s eyes laying on me. They are beautiful shades of grey. Kind of like a full moon, and equally as mesmerizing. „Sure.“ I turn toward Garrett. „Why not.“

 

***

 

I know exactly _why not_. Because it’s really cold outside. Nick and Garrett change into their soccer shorts but I’m staying in jeans and a sweatshirt. We kick the ball around for about half an hour but eventually, we end up sitting on the bleachers, just talking and passing the ball around like it’s some sort of holy grail. 

We actually film Nick’s attempts at doing some tricks with it but he just ends up looking even more goofy than usual.

When we decide it’s time to finally go home I’m all warmed up with laughter and the feeling of genuine friendship. I have even totally forgotten about Simon Spier. Until I walk past the auditorium, whatsoever, and spot through the glass doors, sitting next to Cal Price. Sitting _very close_ next to Cal Price.

My heart drops just an inch. Cal is smiling at him, their faces are level and closer to each other than they needed to be. Simon’s fiddling with his phone in his hands and he seems rather nervous. But he’s smiling happily and the dimple on his cheek is there, of course. And he looks adorable.

Cal seems to think the same, because a smile spreads on his face, too. Then he stands up slowly and hesitates for a second. But then he puts a hand on Simon’s shoulder.

There’s an actual pulling feeling on my guts when I see Cal touching him – even though it’s just for the briefest fractions of a moment. What really hurts is Simon’s in shock widening eyes and the increase of the grin on his face. He looks more and more content by the second. I’d love seeing him all content like that if it weren’t for Cal Price.

 

***

 

I get an email at four in the morning that night. I wake up from the notification as it lights up my phone screen, but I can’t fight my eyes to stay open to read it.

So I get up extra early in the morning, spend time in the bathroom and then sit down in front of my computer. I can’t help but smile so much that my cheek actually starts to hurt when I read the email. Jacques must’ve had a very exciting day yesterday.  
_Maybe it was his birthday…  
_ But for right now, I don’t want to think about either Jacques as Simon nor just him and Simon sharing their birth date. Whatever. I just want to admire his cute sentence fragments and choice of words at four in the morning. 

I learn another thing about him, he hates French. Or at least he’s not really good at it. Which I can completely understand. When my parents were still happily married we made a trip to French Canada during one summer break and as the nerd that I am, I wanted to learn a bit about the language in advance.  
Let’s just say I gave up after I introduced myself to the _passé composé_ , because _non. Just non_.

 

***

 

 

>  
> 
> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Nov 18 at 7:32 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Why why why?
> 
>  
> 
> So, I’m a little scared to read what I wrote you last night. I’m glad it was cute and grammatical, too. Anyway, I don’t know what the hell that was all about. Too much sugar yesterday, I guess. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
> 
> Yeah. I’m still totally brain-dead. I don’t even want to think about how I did on my quizzes.
> 
> Don’t know much about reality TV? You mean your parents don’t make you watch it? Because mine do. And I bet you think I’m kidding.
> 
> You bring up a good point about our voices. I guess we would have to use some kind of robotic megaphone to warp them so they sound like Darth Vader. Or we could just do other things instead of talking. I mean. I’m just saying.
> 
> – Your Zombie Jacques

 

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 19 at 6:57 AM
> 
> SUBJECT: Other things?
> 
>  
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> Please explain what exactly you mean by other things instead of talking. I have no idea what that could mean… ;-)
> 
> – Blue

 

 

 

> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Nov 19 at 7:34 AM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Other things?
> 
> Blue, 
> 
> I feel like we would figure out other things to do with our mouths as soon as we met.  
>  I’m not going to go deeper in to that, because a) I think you are smart enough and already know what I mean and b) I’m late for school.
> 
> – Jacques
> 
> PS: c) I’d much rather skip school and write to you but…you know…

 

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 20 at 4:57 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: A list of totally lame other things
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> Alright, I actually thought about it and came up with a list of things we could do with our mouths (hey, mind out of the gutter, I’m speaking innocent here!):
> 
>   1. Drink (pretty boring, but you know what? I’ve actually never really drank alcohol after I had that one incident at a party that I’ll totally not tell you about. But I guess getting drunk with you would be a lot of fun.)  
> 
>   2. Whistling (did you know I’m an excellent whistler. I know you’re imagining me catcalling after you right now. Which I would totally do. If that was okay for you, of course. I’m all about your consent.)  
> 
>   3. Eat (ALL THE OREOS)  
> 
>   4. Kiss (alright, you got me. You pulled my mind down the gutter with you. But I can’t help it. Thinking about mouths and you? Kissing is unavoidable…)
> 

> 
> – Blue

 

 

 

> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Nov 21 at 6:05 AM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: A list of totally lame other things
> 
> You’re right. Everything on that list is very lame. Except the kissing. I’m thinking about kissing you right now.
> 
> – Jacques

 

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 21 at 10:08 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: A list of totally lame other things
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> It was not a wise decision to read your email before school this morning. And it also wasn’t a wise decision to reread it right before bed. You might end up not being able to catch any shut eye tonight as I’ll be dreaming about you all night. And your lips.
> 
> Right, I’ll stop now or I might actually die because of my overheating face.
> 
> Goodnight, Jacques.  
>  – Blue

 

 

 

>  
> 
> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Nov 22 at 12:15 AM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: A list of totally lame other things
> 
> It was not a wise decision of me reading **your** email right before bed.
> 
> – Jacques  
>  PS: I’m totally gonna reread it tomorrow morning, though. ;-)

 

 So, that is where we’re at right now. It’s the weekend and I’m again smiling at my computer screen. I’ve spent so much time doing that lately. Neighbors who peak through my window might think I’m doing some weird porn marathon, the way my eyes are so glued to the gadget. By the way, my neighbors are totally people who would peak through other people’s blinders.

It’s ten in the morning and I’m thinking about whether I should text Jacques back or spend some time under the shower thinking about our past few emails.  
But before I can settle for one or the other there’s a knock on my door.

„Mhm?“

My mom comes in. „Morning, sweetheart“, she says, „You good?“

I pull my Spotify tab in front of my Gmail account. „Sure. What’s up?“

„So, your dad just called me and asked about Hanukkah. Are you up for it this year?“

„Yeah, sure“, I say, „But Hannukah isn’t for another two weeks, is it?“

She shakes her head. „No… I guess he just wanted to make sure you have time that weekend. He said something about booking the usual hotel.“

I nod at her, smiling a little. 

She shifts from one foot to the other. 

„Anything else?“ I pull my legs up to my chest.

„Can…Can I sit?“ She nods toward my bed. This is weird. She’s looking kind of angsty.

 _Oh God, she knows I’m gay. She found out_. 

„Yes“, I drag the word out longer than I need to.

„So…“ She drums on her thighs with her fingers. „It’s Thanksgiving-weekend in a few days, right?“

„Yeah.“

„Uhm…Paul…uhm, he invited us over. Like, for dinner. He lives in Granton.“

Granton is a small village right next to Creekwood. I’ve never properly been there because it’s even more dead than Shady Creek. As far as I know, only old people live there and it’s really scary because they’re all walking their old dogs at the same time.

„Oh. Alright. I guess?“ It’s not that I care that much about Thanksgiving. Sorry, America, but I just see that holiday as an opportunity to excuse the fact that I’m eating way too much sweet potatoes covered with marshmallows and chocolate for dinner.

„He, uh“ Mom drives a hand through her black, curly hair. It’s still bushy and messed up from sleep. „You might actually know Paul’s daughter. She goes to your school.“

I raise my eyebrows. „Oh. He has a daughter.“

„Yeah.“

„Have you met her?“

„Well, no. Paul and I planned to celebrate Thanksgiving-weekend together and meet the other’s child then. But you’ve already met Paul, so…“

„What’s her name? Is she a junior?“

„Sophomore. Morgan Fisherman“, she says.

I shrug. „Doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe I’ve seen her but I don’t have courses with her.“

„I bet you’ll like her. Paul told me she plays soccer as well!“

I nod slowly. „Interesting.“

She mimics my pose on the chair and pulls her knees up to her chest. I guess we look really much alike right now. „So, what are you doing?“

My head turns back and forth between my computer and her. „Oh, nothing, really. Just listening to some music.“

It’s quiet for a minute. No music playing. Then she gets up and excuses herself to go and prepare breakfast.

 

***

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Nov 22 at 8:18 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Thanksgiving
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> so, I have to tell you something. Remember when I told you my mom is really sad over that work-dude? Well, she’s over it.  And she has met another man. You might think that’s weird for me but I’m sort of used to it. It’s not that she gets some every weekend, it’s just that she’s still really young and stuff. 
> 
> Anyway, I normally never really meet the guys she _hangs around_ with (I’m not typing the word sex in relation to my mother) but this time, it’s different. I sort of walked in on them. Not really directly walked in on them but I was inside the house when they had a _meeting_. And I met him that evening. He seems like a decent guy, but still. They’re only dating for like, what?, a few days…
> 
> So, he invited my mom and I over for Thanksgiving-weekend. Wow, yes, very spectacular. No, but honestly? He has a daughter. So my mom’s meeting his daughter. This is all going so fast. Next thing I know is probably me moving out or sharing my room with some random girl.
> 
> Ugh.
> 
> And my dad called. Not me, of course, because I bet he doesn’t even know my phone number. But he announced he’d come by soon. I used to get so excited when he came all the way to visit me, but within the past years this hasn’t been the case all too often. I guess he feels that there’s something off between us. And by something off I mean me being gay.  
>  He’s kind of a lady’s man, and I guess that’s a cool dad for every straight dude to have. He’s teaching me pick-up lines („that actually work, trust me!“) and how to…you know, do stuff with girls. With girls. BUT I AM INTO BOYS.
> 
> It’s been a weird day. I hope your weekend is going better.
> 
> – Blue

 

 

 

> FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)
> 
> TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)
> 
> DATE: Nov 23 at 11:09 AM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Thanksgiving
> 
> Blue,
> 
> Sorry about your weird day yesterday. Wow. I’m sorry, but I’m actually laughing at the thought of you sitting down with your dad and he teaching you how to do the do with a girl. It’s just funny to me. Even though my mom’s a psychologist we never really had that awkward sex-talk. 
> 
> I mean, they know that I know how it works. I don’t know how they know, though. It’s not like they caught me watching porn or something (which would take the whole gay-thing outta the way much quicker, to be honest…). But whatever, it just never was a big deal, you know. 
> 
> So I assume you know everything about the female body. But you’re still quite inexperienced in a guys anatomy, right? Another thing we could change in that dark room we talked about. ;-)
> 
> Anyway, my weekend is a bit weird, too. But in a good way. My older sister came home from college for the first time since she left a couple months ago. It’s strange having her next doors again. I’m really happy, though, because we used to hang out so much and I really missed it.  
>  Yep, I’m that weird guy who actually likes hanging out with his sisters and isn’t just all about their female friends. 
> 
> I hope that Thanksgiving dinner is going to go well. Your mom must be quite sure with that guy if she agreed to a whole family-meeting. I’m sure your new step-sister will love you. There’s no way someone couldn’t love you, Blue.
> 
> – Jacques

 


	8. Chapter 08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm kind of iffy about this Chapter... Sorry there's not so much Simon happening at the moment. But trust me, there's going to be SO much Simon Spier and mostly SO much pining...y'all
> 
> AND THANKS FOR 100 KUDOS <3

Paul Fisherman shares a tiny flat with his daughter in Granton. When mom and I walk through the door, we’re already standing in the middle of the living room. It smells like potatoes and meat and cheese.

There’s a table set up for four in the kitchen and I’m about to take a seat when Paul stops me. „Wait, I’m gonna go and get Morgan. She’s still in her room.“

Mom looks nervous. She slides the palms of her hands up and down her thighs. „Is my hair okay?“ She wears it open and in her natural curls.

„You look fine.“

A moment later Paul enters back into the kitchen, followed by a short blonde girl. I’ve never noticed her in school but she seems strangely familiar. Maybe I’ve seen her playing soccer. She has a heart-shaped face and big, round, blue eyes. 

„Right“, Paul clears his throat, „So, Morgan, that’s Anne and her son Bram. Anne, Bram…my daughter Morgan.“

We all share polite smiles and handshakes and I feel Morgan’s gaze linger a bit longer on me than is necessary. She sits down on the chair next to me, so we’re opposite our parents. 

„You play soccer, right? Like, in the school team“, she says. Her voice is really bright and clear, and I bet she could sing a full on perfect harmony right now on a whim.

„Yeah“, I answer, „Mom told me you play it, too?“

She nods, smiling and showing me a set of really white teeth. „I’ve been playing since I was little but never actually tried out for the school team. Will do next year, though.“

Now it’s me nodding. „That’s awesome. They’re always short on the girl’s soccer team.“ That is true because more and more girls signed up for the lacrosse team that is new to our school, but the girls that _are_ playing soccer? They’re badass and better than most boys in our team.

„I tried lacrosse last year“, she says as if she’s been reading my mind, „Not for me, though. I rather kick a ball than throw it with some sort of strange net-bat.“

I let out a laugh. „Understandable.“

„I see you’re getting along!“, Paul exclaims, sounding rather grateful, „And I really hope you’re hungry because I made my special Thanksgiving-dish.“

 

Paul’s special Thanksgiving-dish is a very weird looking mix of meat, cheese, vegetables and even marshmallows in some kind of brown gravy. My mom and I eye it with concern, but Morgan assures us laughing that it’s actually tasty. 

And she’s right. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever eaten, it’s not better than Oreos (I’m thinking about Jacques), but it’s a decent dinner. And after I’ve finished my second plate of it I feel like my stomach is actually going to explode if I move just one inch.

I can’t even keep talking with Morgan. She’s actually really nice and we’ve been talking about all kinds of soccer and school-related stuff during the meal. Mom and Paul are holding hands under the table and I can see them sharing looks. The air is basically crackling between them.

Morgan seems to have noticed, too. „Hey, Bram, you wanna see my room? I got a Nintendo switch for my birthday last month and we can play.“

„Sounds good“, I say, already standing up. I’m not keen about witnessing yet another _intercourse_ between my mom and her lover.

I follow Morgan down the short hallway into her room. It’s also tiny, but the white walls and furniture make it look at least a little bigger. There’s not really any other place for me to sit down other than her bed. She doesn’t even have a desk. Judging by the few pencils and textbooks laying on her bed she does her homework on there.

I feel kind of bad because even though my mom is divorced and raises me on her own (my dad is obviously giving her an amount of money), we still have a guest room and even a big storage room in our house. And a basement, too.

But Morgan seems content as she plops down on the bed next to me, causing her math textbook to fall off on the other end. „Oops“, she giggles, „So, anyway, you wanna play a game while our parents do the gross adult stuff?“

„Ew, don’t mention it“, I snort, „I don’t want to think about it.“

She laughs. „Haha. I think they’re actually just settling on the couch. But I’m not going to look since I don’t want to _witness_ anything.“

„This is all going really fast, though“, I admit.

„True that“, she agrees, „But my dad seems so happy. I haven’t seen him smile like that since my mother’s days.“

„Where is your mother?“

She swallows. „She died three years ago.“

„Oh. I’m sorry.“

„You’re fine.“ She tries to smile again. „I’ve had my time being sad. I mean, I still miss her, of course, but I can move on now.“

„You sure that you’re a sophomore in _High School_?“, I ask, grinning at her.

„I’m a witty Ravenclaw.“ She swings her hair over her shoulder. „For real, though, you kind of grow up double as fast when your mom dies.“

„Yeah, I believe that.“ 

I think about the Harry Potter reference. It makes me think about Jacques again, whose sexual awakening was Daniel Radcliffe. I have to hold back a laugh. And it also makes me think about Simon, who shares the glasses and the messy hair with Harry Potter. He even has a faint scar on his forehead. It’s on his temple, though, so a little off place, and it’s not shaped like lightning, rather like a tiny smile, but still. I’ve meant to ask him about that forever.

Morgan has scooted an inch closer to me and suddenly it occurs to me that she’s glaring up to me with her beautiful, icy blue eyes. They have a tiny turquoise ring just around the pupil but are blue all the way around that. They’re nothing like Simon’s eyes, though, who maintain so many different shades of grey, more than I’d known there were.

Her face is so close now. How did we get from talking about her dead mother to _this_?

I turn my face away from her as soon as I notice her eyes slowly shutting. She pulls back immediately.

„Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry“, she says, „Sorry. I thought…sorry.“

I let out an awkward laugh. „It’s fine…I’m just not…Sorry, if…“

„I thought…Like, I got a vibe that…“

„I’m gay.“

As soon as the words are out I realize what I just did. My heart sinks into my stomach and I feel about double as heavy than I actually am. There’s a soft ringing starting in my ears.

Morgan scoots away even more. „Oh. _Oh_.“

My mouth went dry. I can’t talk. What the _actual fuck_ did I just do? I haven’t even told my mom! And now the daughter of her freaking two-night-stand, or whatever this is, knows. I stare down at my knees. They look sort of knobby through my jeans.

„I didn’t realize“, Morgan says.

That almost causes me to snort. What does she think? That all gays dress up in tight jeans and blouses? I’m wearing a plaid button down and loose jeans and am equally as gay.

„That…wow.“

„You can’t tell anyone“, I finally speak out. My voice is as dry as my throat feels, „I haven’t told my mom yet.“

„Alright“, she drags out, „Uhm…this is really awkward now.“

I somehow want her to tell me it’s not a big deal, that she just didn’t have a clue and we’re fine now that she knows. But her mouth is just a thin line and she stares at a point somewhere next to my right shoulder.

„Uh…“, I make.

„Gosh, this is so embarrassing. I just tried to have my first kiss with a gay boy.“ Her cheeks blush and she drives both her hands through her blonde hair.

„It’s not _that_ embarrassing“, I say. Finally, my mouth seems to produce saliva again. „You just didn’t know. It’s not like I’m walking around with a rainbow flag.“

„At least you can be sure I won’t tell anyone about this.“

Because it was embarrassing _for her_. I feel myself getting angry at her. What exactly is her deal with it? It’s not like she’s ugly or gross, I just didn’t want to kiss her because she’s not a boy. And not Jacques, for that matter. But she makes it seem like it’s sort of disgusting that she almost touched lips with a queer dude. Except she didn’t seem as disgusted when she leaned into me.

I let a sigh out. Whatever. But then it hits me. I told Garrett and I told Morgan. With Garrett, it felt like a big thing because he is my best friend, but I also knew he would be fine with it and it wouldn’t change anything about our friendship. I did it because I wanted to be 100% myself around him.  
But when I just told Morgan? I just said it. I said it because I wanted her to know that I cannot kiss her, because she and I would just never be a thing. I didn’t tell her because I wanted her to know this about me so I can be myself around her. I wanted to tell her because it is the _goddamn truth_.

I have to tell my parents. I just have to by now. It’s not fair that I can tell this fact about me to almost complete strangers but am afraid of my own mom and dad.

„Bram?“, she says.

I look at her.

„You won’t tell anyone about this, either, will you?“

Okay, now I let out a loud snort. „Did you even listen? I told you I’m not even out to my mom. I didn’t mean to tell you but I guess it’s better than lying and just kissing you, right? Don’t make a big deal out of it.“

She stays silent for a second, but when she opens her mouth, I’m faster.

„Look, if I kissed you and we, _I don’t even know_ , started a thing or whatever it would have been like trying to push a square through a round hole.“

She closes her mouth and then nods, slowly.

„So just forget it. It’s not embarrassing, it’s just not going to happen.“

She clears her throat, sort of like her dad did earlier, „Alright… It’s not like I hate gay people or something.“

„I’m…“ It’s a pain not to roll my eyes at her. „Can we just go back to our parents?“ I get up from the mattress and lay a hand upon the doorknob. She nods and follows me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, I hope you're not bored with this since it's not directly spierfeld-related, whatsoever ._.


	9. Chapter 09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so prepare yourself for some sad!Bram and some crying. Sorry in advance. :'(

When mom parks in front of our house about two hours later, there is still a faint smile on her lips. Her eyes are practically sparkling in the dark. I don’t want to know what exactly Paul does to her, but I also don’t want him to stop. Which is kind of gross

Mom turns off the engine. „So, you and Morgan get on pretty well.“

_I have to tell her._

„She’s nice.“

„Yeah“, mom says, then she pauses for a minute, „She seemed, like, really into you.“

„Oh. Did she?“

_I have to tell her. Now._

„Yeah.“ Mom smiles at me. „And, just so you know, I’d be totally fine with it. It’s not like you’re related just because her dad and I are dating.“

Once again this evening I find my heart deep in my stomach, somewhere between the mush of Paul’s special dish. „It’s not…like that.“

„Bram“, she says, „We don’t have to talk about this right now. I understand. It’s your thing. I just wanted you to know, so you don’t have to keep it a secret.“

_My life is just a straight up irony at this point._

„But…Morgan and me, that’s not going to happen.“ My voice sounds strange in the car’s silence. There’s tension in the air and I’m sure my mom feels it, too. She narrows her eyes slightly and I know she knows that there’s something I’m not telling her.

„Why not?“, she asks, careful but not hesitant.

_Because I’m gay. Gaaaaaaay. I like boys. Not girls, boys. Gay!_

But deep inside me I know I’m not going to say it. At least not right now. Not tonight. I usually don’t do things on a whim – and what happened tonight should be enough reason as to exactly why. I’m more of a planned person and I know I’m chickening out.

„Can’t date anyone right now.“ I let it sound like it’s the obvious answer to her question. „I have _way_ too much school work to do, I don’t have time to have a…a girlfriend.“I feel that she’s not buying it right away, so I flash her a _duh_ -look with raised eyebrows and a half-opened mouth.

Her mouth forms into this creepy faint smile again and she pats my thigh. „Alright, my little nerd. I got you. Work before pleasure.“

I nod. But then I can’t get out of the car fast enough. It feels like something in me is about to break. And I can’t let it break until I’m alone in my room, laying on my back on my bed. I can almost hear the cracking sound when the dam breaks and tears start running down my cheeks.  
It’s not even just what happened with Morgan that’s making me sad. It’s that I feel this weight on my heart, pushing it deeper and deeper, to a place where it doesn’t belong. It’s an aching feeling that begins in my chest and takes over my whole body.  
I feel myself asking, _Why am I not normal? Why can’t I just like girls?_ I remember Garrett’s ‚straight is not the default’ words but for so many people, it is. For my parents, straight _is_ the default. Me marrying a girl someday is the default. Having children of my own.  
_I hate this_. This feeling like I’m going to disappoint everyone. Of failure. Of not even meeting my own expectation because _why can I not just already tell my mom_? _My dad_? _Why_?

And then there’s Jacques who flirts in his emails and who is cute and funny, but unreachable.

And there’s Simon at school. With his adorable bed head and his beautiful, beautiful eyes. And Cal Price sitting next to him in the auditorium, smiling and basically undressing him with his own eyes then and there. And there’s Simon kissing Anna in sophomore year, just for a short moment but with closed eyes and their hands intertwined.

I press a pillow onto my face to suffocate a sob. I haven’t been laying in my bed like this for years. Desperately covering up the fact that I’m crying over literally _being myself_. I wish I could turn it off. Turn off that I care about anyone’s opinion on my sexual orientation. Turn off that I start to fall in love over freaking email. Turn off that I’m jealous of Cal Price sitting so close to Simon. Just turn it all off.

But I can’t.

 

***

 

The following week, I’m back to normal. Normal meaning procrastinating an essay for Mr. Wise by thinking about Jacques. I’m thinking so much about Jacques that I actually end up googling where his username for his Gmail comes from.

Let’s just say the rest of that day is spent listening to a lot of Elliott Smith. It just fits my mood. The music sounds kind of low and sad and is perfect for figuring things out.

So, here’s a thing. I’m planning on coming out to my dad when we’re doing the Hotel Hanukkah this weekend. I guess since I don’t see him as much as my mom it will be easier to come out to him. And if he’d respond negatively to it I could just get out of the hotel and drive back home.

I write an email to Jacques telling him about my Coming Out plans. Not that I am in desperate need of getting things straight (oh the irony) with my family, though.

I’ve missed Jacques a bit lately. We haven’t been emailing as much since he spends a lot of time catching up with his sister, so I’m grateful for his long response. He doesn’t really address my Coming Out plans, just says that he hopes Hotel Hanukkah is going to go well for me. The rest of his text is just straight up cheering me up in a very Jacques-way. And a very Simon-way, if I’m being honest. Not that Simon Spier has ever cheered me up on purpose. But whenever I’m reading Jacques emails, the voice in my head sounds just like Simon’s.


	10. Chapter 10

I meet my dad in front of a hotel in Atlanta proper on the weekend. He’s already waiting for me, a suitcase with him. I really hope it’s filled with some Elliott Smith albums. I’ve dropped a few hints to my mom that I enjoy his songs and I’m sure my dad asked her what to get me.

It’s always a bit awkward getting together with my dad, because we don’t see each other at all anymore, except for the really important holidays. And since he lives in Savannah and is on his second wife, that’s usually just Hotel Hanukkah and Christmas every second year.

We have one rule for Hotel Hanukkah, though. No jeans. We’re supposed to wear sweatpants and a comfy sweater over the whole weekend. No squeezing into anything allowed.

I greet him with a quick hug that feels warm even though it’s a bit forced. He smells like his usual cologne mixed with a little bit of cigarette smoke. He picked up smoking when he left my mom and me and he just won’t stop it. But I know he’d freak out if I told him that I may or may not have had a cigarette over at Garrett’s a few times.

We check in and take the lift to our loft. Yes, he rented us a loft. With our own kitchen, even though we’ll get room service, and two of the comfiest and largest beds I have ever seen. However, the first thing we do is settle down on the couch in front of the TV. My dad turns on a music program and then looks at me.

„So, how’s it going, kid?“, he asks, exposing his bright teeth. They make such a strong contrast to his dark skin it’s almost distracting.

„Really good. Got As on two of my latest English exams.“ He’s an English teacher so that’s the answer he wants to hear.

He nods and I can tell that he’s proud.

„I actually brought them for you“, I say and shuffle them out of my backpack.

He takes them and skims over them shortly, then looking back at me. „Awesome. I’ll read them later.“

Now it’s me nodding. „And…how are you doing?“

He hesitates, then shrugs, pulling his shoulders all the way up to his ears. I can tell that something’s off but he grabs the zipper of his suitcase before I can dig into it. „I’m alright“, he finally says, then he pulls out all the Hotel Hanukkah essentials.

 

***

 

We spend the day doing all of our traditions and then settling with a delicious meal à la room service on the couch in front of a series on Netflix. All the conversations we had have been small talk and then mostly related to my school. I can’t really ask him about his life, because I don’t even know what’s going on in it.

We haven’t exchanged our gifts yet. That’s always the after dinner business. I’m trying to plan my Coming Out out in detail while munching on some delicious noodles in spicy red sauce. I think I’ll tell him after gift giving. I’ll be thankful and amazed by all the amazing things he’d gotten me and then I’ll just blurt it out.

_I’m gay._

Or maybe I could do a more casual attempt.

_Look, dad, there’s this boy I like…_

The fact that I basically already came out twice before makes me think more and more about how I’m going to say it rather than that I actually have to _say_ it.

 

His gifts to me are as amazing as every year. A new brand collar shirt. Elliott Smith vinyls. I don’t actually own a record player but I collect vinyls anyway. I bet Jacques owns one. He seems like a person who does.

My dad’s presents are probably worth as much as someone’s minimum wage earnings for a month. But I only really care for the vinyls.

And I got him _coffee_. And a mug, for that matter.

Our _thank you!_ s and _that’s so awesome I love it!_ s die down and I guess it’s time for me to come out (oh, haha again). I already straighten my back against the arm of the couch and face him, but he stops me before I can start.

„Wait, there’s one left!“, he says, a sparkle lighting up in his eyes. „I saved the best for last.“ He hands me a rectangle-shaped packet.

I can already feel that it’s a book. He’d never gotten me a book before, so this is kind of special. I’ve always been into reading and one of the walls in my room is actually covered by one giant bookshelf. But he doesn’t know that. Because he has never actually seen my room in my mom’s house.

When I remove all the shiny, red wrapping paper, however, my face drops. It looks strangely like a textbook. Except it’s heavy and the font is tiny and the writing is by Casanova.

 _Freaking Casanova_ , says Simon’s voice in my head. Because that’s what Jacques would say right now.

„This, son“ Dad points at the book. „Is the root to all your future successes with women.“

_I’m gay. I am so gay this book literally burns my hands. I won’t use it. I won’t use it as long as it doesn’t tell me how to get a boyfriend. Not a girlfriend. Boyfriend. Yes, dad, you heard me right. I am very gay._

„Wow“, I drag out, „Thanks, dad.“

„Don’t you love it? It helped me so much when I was younger“, he says, looking a little nostalgic, „Teaches you about what’s really going on in a woman’s head. Tells you where all the right and wrong parts are, you know.“

„Okay.“ I tap on the cover impatiently.

„Listen.“ He scoots a little closer to me. „I know, I haven’t been as present in your life for the past years as you needed me to be. But I want you to know I’ll always be there for you, and I love you, kid. You’re awesome. And we definitely have to spend more time together from now on. I promise I’m going to come down here at least one weekend a month. And then you can tell me how it’s going with the book.“ He smiles. „You’re so close to being an adult, Bram, and it’s going by so fast. I really want a connection to you. And what can a father and son better connect over than women? I can help you become a real gentleman!“

I swallow. _Oh my god. I can’t do it. It’d ruin him right here and now._

„Thanks, dad.“ I rest the book on my thighs. I can’t even stand to look at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I GOT ACCEPTED AT UNIVERSITY IM STILL CRYING HAPPY TEARS!!
> 
> I'll do my best to update everyday again from now on, my life's just been so busy (I miss Simon and Bram :()


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I really, really like this Chapter :')

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Dec 6 at 6:19PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Coming Out Thing
> 
> Did you do it, did you do it, did you do it?
> 
> – Jacques

 

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Dec 6 at 10:21 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Coming Out Thing
> 
> Okay. I didn’t exactly do it.
> 
> I got there, and my dad had everything set up for Hotel Hanukkah: the menorah, presents wrapped and so on. It looked like he put a lot of effort into it this year, so that was kind of nice. My stomach was churning, because I was really planning on telling him. But I didn’t want to do it straight out of the gate, so I figured I’d wait until we finished opening presents.
> 
> So, you know how you hear stories about people coming out to their parents, and the parents say they already knew somehow? Yeah, my dad isn’t going to say that. I’m officially certain that he has no idea I’m gay, because you will not believe what book he picked out to give me. _History of My Life_ by Casanova (or, as you would say, by „freaking“ Casanova).
> 
> Looking back, there was probably a perfect opportunity hiding in there somewhere. Maybe I should have asked him to exchange it for Oscar Wilde. I don’t know, Jacques. I guess it kind of stopped me in my tracks. But now I’m thinking it might be a blessing in disguise, because in a weird way, I think it would have hurt my mom’s feelings if I told my dad first. Since she basically raised me on her own. It can be a little complicated with divorced parents. This whole thing is really overwhelming.
> 
> But I feel like I really need to get this weight off my chest.
> 
> Anyway, my new plan is I’m going to tell my mom first. Not tomorrow, because tomorrow is Sunday, and I just think it would be better if I don’t do it right after church.
> 
> Why is it so much easier talking about this stuff with you?
> 
> – Blue

 

***

 

The next day, mom and I get a sugary lunch at Waffle House after church and I’m glad she doesn’t ask questions about Hotel Hanukkah. My mom is really low-key about ever mentioning my father. He is never brought up by her unless he called or messaged her about me.

Back home, I finish my essay for Mr. Wise. I print it out and put it into a neat folder. I like to see my words printed out. Dark ink forming words on the bright paper. My words. I always get this swelling feeling in my chest when I finish an essay, or a short story, for that matter.

Whenever I feel myself coming to an end of one of my works. It’s almost like butterflies are flying out of my heart. Mom once told me that’s because I put my heart and soul into my written word. And I guess it’s true. There’s a lot of _uhm_ and _I don’t know_ when I’m talking, but I’m so certain on paper.

After I’m done with all the school-related work, I pull up my Gmail account and of course, I have a new email from Jacques. He is as cute as always and cheers me up eventually by just being himself. But his last sentence startles me. I have to read it multiple times, again and again, before I can really wrap my head around it.

 

> Because Mr. Wise says I have a thing about sentence fragments.

 

_Because Mr. Wise says…_

_Mr. Wise!_

I lean back in my chair. He mentioned his English teacher’s name. Mr. Wise. That means we have English together.

This may not seem like a big deal at first but it leaves me petrified. Because it is another parallel between Simon and Jacques. Simon sits in my English lessons and I remember, strangely clear, Mr. Wise handing him back his essay about Anne Frank’s diary, saying „Good job, Mr. Spier. Although, you seem to have a thing about sentence fragments. You need to improve on that.“.

Simon is Jacques. That’s the only thing that makes sense in that moment. Except, I still can’t fully believe it. I know, it’s almost certain at this point, but I just can’t fathom the fact that for once, the universe is actually on my side. Not only making my crush turn out to be gay, but also making him the guy that has been flirting with me over email for the past months.

I am so taken aback by that, that I actually don’t respond for two days. I know that’s probably kind of shitty, because who knows? Maybe Jacques/Simon is already having a mental breakdown since he realized he basically just dropped a huge part of his disguise.I wonder if Jacque’s dropping more and more hints about himself on purpose. Maybe he wants me to find out but is too subtle to just come out to me.

Because he knows I’m still not ready.

Except I’m getting closer to it. With each day, I plan out how to tell my mom that I like boys. But every day, something comes in between. One time, she’s making more hours at work and I’m already in bed when she comes home. Then Paul’s over and they’re making me sit on the couch with them, watching an episode of _Sherlock._

On December 12th, she gets dinner with Paul after work and by the time she gets home, it’s already past eleven. I’m in bed, reading a book (not Casanova) when I hear her turn on the Tv and plop down onto the couch. She usually doesn’t go to bed before midnight, so I could just get up and tell her right now.

The weight of my secret has been sitting rather uncomfortable in my chest for the past couple of days. It feels like it’s grown actual hands that reach up my throat and I’m about to just blurt it out at any given moment.

I get up and walk to my door. My hand is already on the doorknob when I realize, I don’t know how to tell her. I’ve been planning how to sit her down for days, and I’ve thought about her possible reactions, but I have never spend a single thought on how I’m actually going to start the conversation.

_Hey, mom, how was dinner with Paul? Did you know I’m gay?_

I take two steps back and fall down onto my desk chair. My foot accidentally nudges against my desk and my computer screen wakes up from standby mode. I had been working on a short story before my eyes grew tired and I went to bed eventually. I’m just so much better over text.

And then I know how I’m going to do it. I pull up my email account – not my secret one – and address a new email to my mom’s work address. I know for sure that she has the notifications on her phone turned on for them.

 

 

>   
>  FROM: algreenfeld@gmail.com
> 
> TO: greenfeld.a@esp.com
> 
> DATE: Dec 12 at 11:17 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: I have to tell you something
> 
> Mom,
> 
> I know you’re home, sitting just next doors from me, but I can’t get myself to go up to you. I have to tell you something. Something that is really important and near to my heart to me.
> 
> I know we’ve always been honest with each other. Except I was not. Or I was, really, just not full on. Because I was so scared to disappoint you. First, I want you to know that I know that you love me. And I know that you’re going to love me no matter what. And I know that I really shouldn’t be afraid of telling you anything.
> 
> Second, I also want you to know that I’m still Bram, even though what I’m about to tell you is a huge part of me that I hid away for the past years, ever since I truly realized. I’m still me. I still love soccer and reading and books and cooking dinner for the two of us.
> 
> I’m going to tell you now, mom. I’m gay. I’ve known this forever, really, but I never felt the need to come out with it. I’ve always felt accepted by everyone. But lately, for the past year, I had this feeling. This ache in my chest and I quickly understood that I didn’t want this to be a secret anymore. It started to affect my life. I started to feel like I’m stuck on a ferris wheel. One moment, I was on top of the world. Happy, because I really have everything I could ask for. But the next, I was at rock bottom, because I couldn’t be myself.
> 
> I spent so much time asking myself, _Why can’t I just be normal? Why can’t I just like girls?_ But I’ve come to the conclusion that I _am_ normal. Or I’m not, because in reality, no one really is. And who I like, whether it be a girl or a boy, has nothing to do with being normal. It has to do with who I am and who I want to be. And I want to be honest. I want to be accepted for being myself and not for being normal.
> 
> I love you.  
>  – Bram

 

The sound my computer makes when the email flies out into the world wide web echoes in my head. I’ve written down all my thoughts and sent them away without a hesitation. It’s more a train of thought than an internal monologue or a speech, now that I think about it.

I lay back down on my bed. I did it. I told her. I don’t know if she’s going to read it tonight, or tomorrow, or whenever. But I feel half of the weight on my heart dropping into nowhere. I may not know her reaction. Although, I guess I’m still lucky because deep down I’m sure she will at least accept it.

I desperately try to focus on my book. It’s a really good one, but not even following the incredible heist of six unlikeable teenagers in the Grisha-verse turns my thinking off.

A chunk of the weight has dropped but now my thoughts are racing in circles around my brain. Or spirals, growing tighter and tighter, and it almost feels like they’re cutting streams inside my brain.

I gulp down the rest of the water I have left in a bottle next to my bed and when I close the lid, I hear the crack of my door opening.

Mom slowly steps into the reach of the light of my fairy lights. She’s still wearing her clothes from work, but her hair is down and her make-up is a little smudged.

„Hey“, she says. Her voice is a little raspy. „I just read your email.“

I’m shoving my book away from my face, even though I hadn’t been reading a word whatsoever. I look up at her.

„Can I sit?“ She nods toward my bed.

I sit up and pull my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, and nod.

She sits down stiffly, resting her hands on her thighs. She’s perfectly silent for a small eternity then her eyes meet mine. „Bram. I had no idea.“

I bite the insides of my cheeks. This is way harder than telling Morgan or even Garrett. This is the woman who raised me all on her own for almost the past ten years. She’s seen every part of me, whether it be good or bad, and now I tell her she’s been missing out on something very important.

„It’s… I love you.“

„I love you, too.“ My voice is raspy as well. My mouth is dry, despite the fact I just drank half a liter of water.

She tilts her head up toward the ceiling and I know she’s fighting back tears. „Sorry…I’m… Just know, I am not disappointed in you, whatsoever. If anything, I’m so, so proud of you. I have no idea how hard it must’ve been for you to hide that away.“

„It’s not that I’ve been lying for my whole life“, I tell her, „I mean, I knew it, but I never felt the need to tell anyone about it. But the beginning of this year, something’s changed, and I wanted you to know.“

„And now I do know“, she observes.

„Yes.“

There’s a small smile forming on her lips. Not the same she wears around Paul. I get my very own kind of smile from her. „You’re the greatest child I could ever ask for.“

I feel a tear dropping onto my cheek and I quickly turn away from her.

Next thing I know is her sitting next to me, hugging me tight for a second. Then she lets go and looks at me with stern eyes. „I just hope you’ve been practicing Safe Sex and I’m not going to get an email titled _I have an STD_ as soon as I leave your room.“

„Mom!“ I scoot away from her.

„Bram, this is important. I will bring home condoms from my weekly shopping if you want me to. Just know that you have to use them. _Every single time_. Including Oral.“

I bury my head in the crook of my arm. „Mom, please stop.“ This took a turn real quick. From _I love you emotional_ to _Safe sex embarrassing_. „I’m not even sexually active.“

„Are you sure?“

As if I could be not sure about something like this. As long as she doesn’t count fantasizing about my email-boyfriend as a sexual activity, I’m pretty much Holy Mary.

„I thought…like, you spend a lot of time with Garrett.“

„Okay, no“, I say, „First of all, Garrett is not gay. Second, even if he was…no.“

„Alright, alright!“ There’s this little smile again. „I just hope your turn on the Ferris wheel is coming to an end now. It’s time to stay on safe, content ground.“

I return her smile, even though my cheeks are burning.

She scoots to the edge of my bed. „I love you“, she says again, patting my knee.

„Love you, too.“

 

***

 

I hear my mom’s bedroom door shut a few moments later. The silence seems thicker than usual. I’m wide awake. There’s no way I can sleep tonight. I’m not even going to try. I feel strangely aware of every single inch of my skin, and everything is tingling. It’s like I could get up and run a marathon and I still wouldn’t be tired afterward.

I’m still myself, but I’m also not. I’m more than I ever got to be.

I sit down in front of my computer yet again, but this time I’m writing to Jacques. I can’t wait to tell him. I feel like I also did this for him. It’s a step in the right direction regarding whatever that is that’s forming between us.

 

Our emails become more and more intimate. We’re talking about imagining each other a lot, doing stuff that would only strengthen my mom’s thoughts about me having sex.

Jacques had his own little Coming Out Thing over the weekend. He came out just to one of his best friends, but still. I feel so strangely connected to him. It’s like a red string is tied to my heart, and it goes out my window. I can’t exactly see where it’s going, but I know there’s Jacque’s heart tied to the other end of it. Maybe this is what having a soulmate feels like.


	12. Chapter 12

School goes on break after Friday the next week. Everything is going well at home. Mom doesn’t act weird around me. I know she’s told Paul, even though he didn’t mention it. I’m cool with it, though. It seems like he’s going to be a part of our lives for a bit longer.

Garrett is super happy for me and he actually brings me a cupcake to school. No one knows what it is for when he hands it to me at our lunch table, but I love it. It’s vanilla with a chocolate topping and Oreo crumbles on top. I feel Simon’s eyes lingering on it for a bit too long. He’s not really talking.

„Hey, what’s up?“ I try to sound casual, even though I’m basically on the edge of confronting him with Jacques. „Aren’t you excited for Christmas break?“

He looks up to me. „I have a whole day meeting of Drama Club tomorrow. So my excitement is pretty limited.“

I’m sorry for him. Although he could do worse, I guess. Ms. Albright isn’t really strict and I can imagine the whole Drama Club eventually just singing Disney songs and laughing.

 

***

 

When I come home with Garrett after school, I see my usual parking spot on our porch is already occupied by another car. My dad’s car.

„Isn’t that your dad?“ Garrett raises his eyebrows. We planned to celebrate the start of Christmas break by watching all Star Wars movies, beginning right after school.

„Yeah. What is he doing here?“ I park on the street, two wheels on the sidewalk. This can’t mean anything good. My dad never comes over before announcing himself at least a week in advance. „I hope no one died.“

Garrett flashes me a look. „Uhm, do you want me to go home and just come by later tonight?“

„Ya…I think that would be better. I really don’t know what he is up to. I’ll text you, okay?“

„Okay.“ He nods.

 

Inside, my parents are sitting on the couch, talking to each other in a really polite and through and through fake undertone to it.

„Hi.“ I kick my shoes off my feet.

They seem both thankful that I’m finally home.

„Bram!“ My mom smiles at me. Her happy expression seems forced and for a moment, I believe she’d ring my dad over and told him I was gay. But she would never do that. She may have told Paul, but only because she knew I’d be alright with it (mostly because Morgan already knew, too). Telling my dad, however, is completely my own thing. And I get to decide when and how to tell him.

But then she adds, „Your dad wanted to talk to you about something.“

„What is it?“ I sit down on the opposite couch of him.

„I’m just gonna…leave you guys alone for a sec“, she says, and then she’s gone to her bedroom.

My dad clears his throat. He looks exactly like I felt on Hotel Hanukkah. Like something’s about to bust through his chest.

And I get it. Because I feel like that, too. There’s this sudden urge inside of me. I want to tell him now. But he keeps rambling on about stuff that doesn’t interest me, something about Casanova even, and I have the secret almost pushing itself out of my mouth. But then he says something that causes my mouth to fall shut and my mind to go blank.

„So, your step-mother is pregnant. She’s due in June next year.“

 _I’m going to be a big brother._ That is my first thought. I’ve been an only child for my whole life. I’d never had to share anything with anyone.

 _My dad had sex._ That’s my second thought. I have to bring up a whole fight against my face muscles so they don’t form an obvious cringe. As if it wasn’t enough that my mom is hooking up with her boyfriend frequently around me, now my dad is having another child! I can’t get a word out. I should probably be happy for him. It’s not like this new step-brother/sister is going to influence me in any way. First, I’ll be seventeen years older than him/her. Second, my step-family lives in Savannah and I don’t see them very often.

„Wow“, I finally choke out, „That’s…really great. Congratulations?“

His broad lips form a small smile. „Thank you.“ Then something inside him seems to drop and he sinks back into the couch. „Oh god, I thought you’d be upset.“

„Why would I be upset?“ I’m more grossed out by my mind producing detailed images of him and my step-mom, Imogen, having intercourse.

He shrugs.

„Do you _want_ me to be upset?“ I feel a sudden rush of anger through my veins, which thankfully washes all the images off my mind.

„Of course not“, he says, „It’s just…You know I promised you I’d come by more often? I mean, I will try but it’s gonna be tough for me with a pregnant wife and work and–“

„Okay.“ It comes out a little louder than I had meant it to be. I look down to my knees. I hadn’t noticed my hands making fists around the denim fabric. „It’s not like I expected to see you more often.“

His face drops. „What do you mean?“

„Seriously?“ I’m not even trying to suppress the anger in me. I’m done shutting up and sitting through things. I’m so done with it. I did it for my whole life. Sat and watched everything fall apart, unable to do anything about it, always giving my dad the permission to be the shitty parent all year, as long as he came up here for Hotel Hanukkah. Because that has always been better than not seeing him at all. „Why would you even try to see me more often, dad? You didn’t care that much for the past ten years. And it’s alright, really, it’s not like I was in desperate need of a father figure or something. And now you’re getting a new child! That’s _awesome_! Just make sure you stay around it for longer than just a few years.“

He looks at me, absolutely taken aback by what I just said. I realize he’d never seen me properly angry. To be fair, that doesn’t happen often. I am, in fact, a really calm and reserved guy, but sometimes it’s enough. At some point, even I am done taking shit from someone.

I stop him, when he opens his mouth, „I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t care. It’s not on me to judge your decision to leave mom and me. You’re an adult and it’s your right to move out of a relationship that you’re not happy in. But guess what? I was only six, dad. I had no idea about that. I thought you stopped loving me when you left! And it was mom, _your ex-wife_ , who had to assure me that you’d still come to see me. It wasn’t even you!“

I feel tears building up in my eyes, blinding my vision. There’s a sore feeling creeping up my throat and I know it’s the next chunk of words that want to come out, „So if you’d actually cared about me, it wouldn’t have taken you ten years to decide to ' _come by'_ more often.“  
If it were another situation I would have actually been proud of me not letting out a sob mid-sentence. I look him I’m the eyes. They are much darker than mine and they seem kind of shiny right now.

„Bram…“ His voice is strangely hollow. As if it’s just an empty shell.

„So, no“, I say, fighting against my voice cracking, „I’m not upset because you can’t come over here that often. I’m upset because you already care more about that new child than you ever did for me.“

I bite my jaws together so hard my teeth hurt. With one swift motion, without touching anything with my legs or feet or arms, I walk into my room. I may look calm from behind but I close my door with all my remaining strength and anger. And the bang actually causes a framed family picture to fall down from the top of my bookshelf. The glass shatters on the floor right in front of my feet. _Oh, the irony._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLUUUUUR here's another update I guess :x

I guess I’d expected my dad to knock on my door sooner than 8 pm that evening. I’m laying on my bed, working on an algebra problem with Elliott Smith playing on my computer. He just fits my mood.

I ignore his knocking but hear him enter anyway. Then there’s someone weighing down the mattress next to my legs.

„Can I talk to you?“ His voice is so different than usual. It’s neither the voice he tells me all his womanizer-stories in, nor is it the obligatory English-teacher voice that reads my essays.

I don’t look at him, but get up and pause Elliott. Then I sit down on my desk chair, just like usual, legs pulled up to my chest.

My dad is a really skinny man. But he’s the healthy kind of skinny. The _I work out occasionally and eat about ten bars of chocolate at work_ kind of skinny. But right now his cheeks look strangely sucked in and he seems so much older than barely forty.

„Look“, he says, but then something in him shifts and he buries his face in his hands. I still don’t act on it, not even when I hear a muffled sob. „Please don’t think I don’t care about you“, he says it into the palms of his hands.

I have to swallow hard. There’s something creeping up my throat again, except this time it’s a sob from me as well.

Finally, he looks back up, „I care about you. I care about you so much, Bram. You’re my son, my only son. I’ve always been grateful to have you in my life. Whether I have seen you every day or not, you were, and you still are, the person I love most on this planet.“ He pauses to swallow the obvious lump in his throat. „I am truly sorry that I haven’t shown you enough how important you are to me. The truth is, I felt like there was no need for me to be around as much. You did your growing-up stuff all on your own and before I even realized, there is this young man standing in front of me, reminding me so much of myself, yet being so different.“

I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to say anything yet.

„You were always your mama’s son, Bram. And that’s great. You’re great. I told you before, you are awesome. And I love you, I really do. It’s just…you’ve always been so independent and leaving you on your own seemed to be the best option for me. But I guess I could have at least watched you grow up if not help you.“

I fold my hands in my lap. It’s hard to be mad when your dad is crying in front of you. But still, he is right. He missed out on my life, and it was his own fault. But who am I to not forgive him? It’s not like I’ve been missing him all day every day for the past ten years. Of course, seeing him more would have made me happier, but I’ve never been deeply unhappy.

„It’s alright“, I finally manage to say.

He tilts his head to the right and it’s obvious he’s expecting another tantrum.

I crack a small smile at him, „Honestly. Apology accepted.“

He lets out a long breath he probably had no idea he’d been holding. A look of relief covers his face.

„You know“ I spin around myself on my chair. The blurriness wipes every evidence of eventual tears from my eyes. „When Imogen is too pregnant for you to leave her alone, I’m just going to drive down to Savannah. Oh, and I want to have a say in the baby’s name. Because I’m going to do a full-on protest if you name another one of your children something old-fashioned like Abraham.“

He lifts his hands up in defense. „Alright. I would’ve come back to you about the name issue anyway since you’re the creative one.“

„Did you know about the baby on Hotel Hanukkah?“, I ask.

He nods. „Yeah. But it was too early to tell everyone about it and I was still kind of shocked. It wasn’t exactly planned.“

„But you’re happy about it.“

A smile spreads out on his face. „Yes. And you’re going to be such a good big brother! You can drive him or her around and teach things!“

„Well, you’re the teacher.“

„But you’re more gentle than I am.“

I bite my bottom lip, still smiling. It feels good to have let all the anger out. It was like a wave that washed the line between my dad and me clean. Except, there’s one more little spot on that line.

„Dad? I actually wanted to tell you something, too.“

„Go ahead then“, he says.

„I’m gay.“

His smile fades for just the fraction of a second. It seems like he has to process my words, to repeat them to himself a few more times before he can actually understand and react to them. Then the smile is back, even a little wider than before. „Okay.“

„Is that all you’re going to say?“, I ask shyly, mostly because he just held a full-on emotional speech.

„I mean I guess I totally missed it with Casanova then.“ He lets out a chuckle. „But that’s kind of awkward for me, really. I don’t know if it works on guys as well, though. But you shouldn’t compliment a guy on his boo–“

„Alright“, I stop him, „So, you’re okay with it?“

„Who you love is your thing, Bram. And if I learned anything from tonight, then I am not someone to tell you anything. But yes, I am in fact very okay with it.“

Now it’s me releasing a long breath of air. I don’t get the same wild and giddy feeling like when I told my mom. It’s different. It feels like I’m more myself than I have ever been before. And then I realize, the weight has now completely dropped off my heart.

 

***

 

The next day is Saturday and I sleep in. When I wake up, I respond to all the texts I got from Garrett and then sit down on my desk to update Jacques on everything that’s going on. I realize it actually feels weird to call him Jacques when I’m about 99 percent sure that it’s Simon answering my emails.

_God, I just wish it was Simon._

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Dec 20 at 1:45 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Oh baby
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> You’re not going to believe this.I got home from school yesterday, and both of my parents were there. I know that doesn’t sound crazy, but you have to realize that my mom almost never leaves work early, and my dad has literally never driven up here with no advance notice before.
> 
> I was planning on binging the Star Wars movies that night when I entered the living room and saw them sitting on the couch. I immediately knew that this Star Wars marathon wasn’t going to happen.I felt so queasy, Jacques. For a second, I was positive my mom had told my dad I was gay, which would just be – I don’t know. Anyway, my mom excused herself and then left my dad and me alone. The whole thing was just so weird.
> 
> However, my dad seemed really nervous, and I was really nervous. We were talking and I realized my mom hadn’t told him anything.And suddenly I wanted him to know. It felt like it had to be that very second. So, I was listening to him talk and waiting for an opportunity to tell him – but he just kept talking and talking, and it was strange and tangential and boring.
> 
> Then, all of a sudden, he tells me that my stepmother is pregnant. She’s due in June.
> 
> I spare you any more details, but I was really, really not expecting that. I’ve been an only child my whole life.So, yeah. This. I still don’t know how I feel about things. If anyone can find the humor here, it’s you. Please. Or just distract me. You’re good at that, too.
> 
> Love,  
>  Blue

 

I hover with the cursor over the send button. Signing my email with _Love_? I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s how I feel about Jacques, … _Simon_ , but – I don’t know. I sort of get that wild feeling again. Maybe because I’m all out now to my family, and things have literally never been this good. I just press the button. And then the email is gone. Signed with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you, shit's about to go down in the next Chapter ;)


	14. Chapter 14

Still, it’s safe to say I am beyond relieved when Jacques response email is also signed with love. I read it on my phone – something I tend to do more and more often as of late – while sitting at the kitchen table, stuffing my face with the last Halloween-flavored Oreos.

Jacques and I email back and forth all morning. I have eventually moved to the couch and turned on an episode of _Sherlock_ on TV. I don’t really pay attention, though. Especially not when I read his recent email.

 

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Dec 21 at 10:10AM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: The Homo sapiens Agenda
> 
> Blue,
> 
> I love that you’re having Oreos for breakfast. And I love your giant baguette.
> 
> So, heres the thing. I’ve been typing this and deleting this and trying to think of a better way to phrase this. I don’t know. I’m just going to come out and say it: I want to know who you are.
> 
> I think we should meet in person.
> 
> Love,  
>  Jacques

 

Meet in person. Meet Jacques. Meet Simon. My stomach twists and turns excitedly. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten _all_ the Oreos.

I want to meet Jacques so bad, too. Mostly because I’m positive he’s Simon. But there’s still this quiet feeling deep in my guts that sort of aches a little. And I know this feeling is called doubt. I still doubt Jacques being Simon a little bit. There may be all these parallels and matches between the two, but it could all just be one huge misunderstanding. And I’m not only scared, I’m terrified of Jacques being someone else than Simon at this point.

I have to find out something about him that erases even the slightest hint of doubt from my guts that he’s not Simon. Then, eventually, I’d be ready to meet him in person.

 

***

 

I know it’s a shitty move, but I don’t email back for a couple of days. One, because I don’t know how to tell him that I want him to be Simon Spier so bad, without _actually_ telling him. And two, because my dad calls me from Savannah and invites me for New Year’s. Yes, he calls _me_ , not my mom. And of course, I say yes.

 

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Dec 24 at 2:42 PM
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> Sorry for breaking our emailing-streak out of nowhere a couple days ago. Things just got really busy. My dad invited me over to Savannah for New Year’s and I’m leaving the day after tomorrow and will stay there until school starts again. I hope you have a merry Christmas Eve.
> 
> What is Christmas even like when you aren’t religious? I can’t imagine that. I’m about to head to church by the way.
> 
> Anyway, about your suggestion that we should meet in person. I don’t know, Jacques. You’re probably annoyed at me being this hesitant. I know I shouldn’t be. It’s just, I’m scared that you’d imagined someone else to be me and something between us will break after our first meeting. Please, try to understand where I’m coming from. I promise you I’ll be ready to meet you in person some day. But right now, I’m not.
> 
> Love,  
>  Blue

 

„What do you mean you’re in Savannah over New Year’s?“ Garrett shouts into my ear. We’re on the phone and it’s rather difficult to calm him down and write an email to Jacques at the same time.

„Sorry“, I say absent-minded, correcting a few yours into you’res.

„Come on, Bram! My parents celebrate in Atlanta at my aunt’s and there’s going to be a huge party at my house! Everyone will be there. Oh, even Carter Addison. You know he came out over the last summer, right?“

„ _Hush_ “, I make into the phone, finally clicking send on the email.

„What?“ He pauses. „Hey, are you emailing Jacques as we speak? I feel cheated on, Bram!“

„Shut up!“ I have to hold back a laugh. „Listen, I’m sorry, but I really can’t say no to my dad. He’s sorta trying to make an effort.“ I’d told Garrett about the dad-incident that happened last Friday.

„But it’s New Year’s“, he whines.

„Try to get Leah to come“, I smile.

„Yeah, maybe I should– wait.“

„What?“

„I said wait.“

„Yes, I know, but why?“ I sit down on my bed. I can hear him hitting on the keyboard of his laptop. „Garrett, you know, we can–“

„Bram.“ His voice sounds different than before. „Did you know Simon Spier is actually gay?“

A thousand ants are released into the pit of my stomach. My back straightens. „What? What do you mean?“

„Check creeksecrets. There’s a post.“

„Like, the Tumblr? I haven’t been on there since last August.“ But I’m already sitting in front of my computer, pulling up the browser. „Alright, it’s loading…okay, it’s…oh.“  
I skim the newest post to the website.

 

_December 24, 10:15 A.M._   
_SIMON SPIER’S OPEN INVITATION TO ALL DUDES_

_Dear all dudes of Creekwood, With this missive, I hereby declare that I am supremely gay and open for business. Interested parties may contact me directly to discuss arrangements for anal buttsex. Or blue-jobs. But don’t give me blue balls. Ladies need not apply. That is all._

 

„Bram?“ Garrett’s voice sounds like it’s coming to me through a thick layer of cotton.

„He didn’t post that himself“, I say and turn the screen off. „That is disgusting. Whoever did this…that’s…“

„I already reported it“, he says, „But…like, I said it, remember? He’s giving you looks.“

„I…“ It’s a lot to comprehend. Simon Spier, who is probably Jacques, has just been outed. I should text him right away. Except I don’t want him to know that I know who he is, yet.

My head hurts. I’m making this unnecessarily complicated. I could just email him and be like _I know you’re Simon Spier. It’s me, Bram Greenfeld, from our lunch table. I met you at a supermarket once and you told me the truth about Chick-fil-a. I have a crush on you ever since freshman year. Can we please just kiss?_

No. It dawns on me that the feeling of doubt wasn’t really doubt. Because I knew it was Simon all along. Because I was looking for Jacques to be Simon. But I have dropped so much about my identity, even my email address could give it away, and he still doesn’t know I’m behind Blue. Because he’s not looking for him to be me. Because he’s busy making heart-eyes at Cal Price.

„Anal buttsex“, Garrett snorts, „This person is dumb as shit if he doesn’t know that those are synonyms.“

„I gotta go.“ I once again have to swallow the dryness in my mouth. „See you next year. Merry Christmas.“  
Before Garrett can say anything, I’ve hung up on him.

 

***

 

I should probably say that I’m not mad at Simon. Maybe I’m just overreacting. Or I have a crazy romantic mind that wants him to look for Blue to be me, and I’d only imagined dropping all kinds of hints about myself. But I’m so scared his feelings for me will change once he sees that it’s actually me.

On Christmas Day, I get an email from him. He tells me that he’s now out due to _certain mysterious circumstances_. I don’t mention anything about the post on creeksecrets. If he feels the same for me as I do for him, then I am his safe space. And he doesn’t know I have it all figured out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeeeeeeeeee're getting closer and closer to the big reveal and I'm gonna be late for work :( bye xxx


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more or less a filler chapter, but I get off work at 6 tonight instead of 8, so I'll update again then :)

Christmas and post-Christmas is uneventful. I drive up to Savannah and even though my father doesn’t celebrate it, I get a Christmas present anyway. It’s a laptop. _A freaking laptop_!, says Simon’s voice in my head. I set it up while sitting with my dad in front of the TV. Imogen is cooking dinner in the kitchen. Dad looks so pleased with himself. And I can’t argue about it, this is a perfect present.

I open up Gmail.

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Dec 29 at 6:02 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Post-Christmas presents should be a jewish tradition
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> Guess what? My dad got me a laptop for Christmas. Yes. A freaking laptop as you’d say. This is just awesome. I don’t know what to write about other that I’m really, really excited. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but I sort of like writing. I’ve been making up little stories ever since I learned how to hold a pen. But the lazy person I can sometimes be, I abandon my writing because I like laying in bed more than sitting in front of my computer. But now that isn’t a problem anymore.
> 
> What are you going to do on New Year’s?
> 
> Love,  
>  Blue
> 
>  

It feels perfectly normal. As long as neither of us mentions meeting each other in person, everything is wonderful. It’s getting hard for me to address the emails to Jacques, though, and not to Simon.

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Dec 30 at 11:50AM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re:Post-Christmas presents should be a jewish tradition
> 
> Blue,  
>  You’re into writing? That’s actually awesome. I always thought of you being very poetic. Just letting you know that I’m an excellent beta-reader.
> 
> A laptop is actually god’s gift to earth if you ask me. It’s better than texting on your phone but provides the same level of comfort. I just realized how much I love laptops. I’ve definitely been up for too long last night. I don’t know about you, but my sleeping schedule is officially fucked up.
> 
> Regarding New Year’s, I’m celebrating with my friends in our super cool party-basement. And by celebrating I mean having Auld Lang Syne stuck in our head all evening probably. I’m not as thrilled about the New Year, though, the out-to-the-universe thing. I’m actually pretty terrified to go back to school.
> 
> And you? I assume you’re going to get wasted with your dad and pregnant stepmother.
> 
> Love,  
>  Jacques.

 

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Dec 31 at 1:22 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: auld lang syne
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> yes, I’m totally getting wasted tonight. For real, though, it’s going to be rather quiet. I don’t even think there’s going to be alcohol.  
>  Auld Lang Syne? Total tune in my opinion. Best played on vinyl.
> 
> I know it sounds mean, but I kind of want your evening to go really boring, so you can write to me, and I have a distraction. You’re the best kind of distraction, really.
> 
> Love,  
>  Blue

 

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 1 at 6:09 AM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re:auld lang syne
> 
> Blue,
> 
> ah, I’m so sorry I couldn’t write to you last night! Well, my New Year’s eve didn’t turn out to be boring, so, sorry about that. I got to bed roughly two hours ago and I’m already wide awake. I feel like a total zombie. I probably won’t remember typing this, and I feel kinda reckless, so here it goes: I missed you last night. And I don’t mean email-you. I mean, like, we could have had an epic New Year’s kiss, Blue. Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said this. Do I have to mention that Nick snuck in beer last night?
> 
> I’m going back to bed.
> 
> Love,  
>  Jacques

 

I lay on the bed in the guest room next to the kitchen and smile like an idiot at my laptop screen. We’re all sleeping in today, even though we didn’t stay up that late last night. And so it happens I’m once again eating cookies for breakfast. Or lunch, because I really slept in.  
I don’t even notice the mention of Nick Eisner in the email. Probably because I don’t need to collect any more hints. Jacques is Simon. Simon is Jacques. Jacques…Simon…

It hits me. _Jacques a dit_ and _Simon says_. They’re the same thing! That is really clever, and it kind of makes me love him more. Love…I shake my head slowly. Simon is just too cute when he’s drunk, I can barely handle it. I imagine him to be very cuddly when he had a few beers.

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 1 at 1:19 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: auld lang syne
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> Poor zombie. Hope you’re back to sleep as I type this. The good news is that there are still four days left of vacation, which should clearly be devoted exclusively to fixing your sleep schedule and writing to me. I accept no excuses.
> 
> I missed you too last night. We went to my stepmother’s grandmother’s house, and she’s about ninety years old, so we were back home in front of the TV by nine. I had a beer with my dad. It was nice.
> 
>  

I wrap the email up and send it. And that’s how it goes for the next few days. I spend time with my dad – we’re outside playing soccer quite a bit – and I write to Simon. He’s just as adorable sober as when he’s drunk.

I get back to Shady Creek on January 4th and Garrett catches me off guard, a soccer ball under his arm. We spend the rest of the afternoon outside, kicking the ball and catching up on things.


	16. Chapter 16

It’s not like my sleeping schedule was _fucked_ like Simon described it, but it’s still hard to get up early the next day. It’s no problem for me to get up early on weekends but when there’s school, it’s just a pain in the back.

Soccer try-outs are this afternoon, finally. I’ve been really looking forward to the season to properly start ever since I played so much soccer with my dad. Even though I’m already part of the team, I have to try out again, so Mr. Houlden knows on which position he wants me.

I’m running up and down the field. My mind’s at Simon. He’s been looking poorly at lunch. Dark circles under his eyes. I really want to cheer him up, but I have no excuse to talk to him other than _Hey, I’m Blue_. And that’s not going to happen, _yet_.

However, I feel bad for not telling him that I know who he is. I plan on doing that later today.

 

We’re half an hour into proper try-outs as I spot Abby and Simon coming out of the school building. They’re heading straight over to the soccer field. Nick has seen them, too, and is already jogging toward them. Garrett and I follow.

„It’s weird that they’re making you try out again“, I can hear Abby say.

„I know“, says Garrett, panting.

Simon looks kind of carried away. Why did they leave Drama practice? I lean on the fence, so my head is right next to his. I just really want to be close to him. Cheer him up. Being out to the universe all of a sudden must really be hard.

Garrett occupies himself by chugging down a liter of water.

Simon kneads his hands. He has really delicate fingers and his skin looks so _soft_. I have to stop myself from sighing out loud.

„What happens if you really screw up the audition?“, he asks. „Can they kick you off the team?“

 _I mean, he’s so adorable_. And this dimple on his cheek. I can’t even.

„Audition?“, I ask, smiling sort of mockingly at him.

„Tryouts.“ He’s full on blushing.

It feels like something tugging at my heart. It’s not bad, rather a very happy feeling. I can’t stop looking at him. His eyes are as grey as the current sky above us, but so much more beautiful. I could get lost in the storm in them forever. I bet I’m the only one who noticed that there’s not only a silver ring around his pupil but also hundreds of tiny sprinkles, that looks sort of like stars.

He turns his head away and eyes his feet instead. That kid looks so lost in this world and all I want to do is pick him up, and take care of him. I probably shouldn’t have spent that much time around my pregnant stepmother.

 

***

 

I receive an email from Simon this evening. The sound of my phone’s turned on and the familiar ding! chimes when I sit on the dining table over take away noodles with my mom and Paul. My hands are greasy so I don’t reach into the pocket of my jeans to read the message right away, although I really want to.

„Soccer tryouts were today, weren’t they?“, Mom asks. She’s sitting next to me and opposite Paul.

Paul lifts his eyes off his noodles.

„Yeah“, I mumble.

„What position do you play on?“, Paul asks, interested.

„Mr. Houlden wants me to play striker or in center“, I say.

„Wow. Awesome“, Paul says, „I played center when I was in High School. Morgan’s defense.“

„I know“, I nod, „Saw her on the field today. She was aces.“

„I’ll tell her“, Paul laughs, „She would have come here with me but her legs are already sore.“

I stare at my noodles for a minute. I’m not really hungry anymore. All I can think about is Simon. It must suck for him to be at school at the moment. I know there are a couple of girls at school who outed themselves as lesbians, and they’re made fun of a lot.

„Hey, mom, can I leave?“

Mom looks at my serving of noodles. „You haven’t even eaten half of your food, Bram.“

I put an exhausted expression on my face. „I’m really, really tired.“

Her face goes soft. „Alright, honey. Good night then.“

„Good night“, I say, nodding at Paul, then I leave the kitchen to wash my hands.

 

In my room, I turn my Spotify playlist on on the computer and settle into bed with my laptop – because I’m _that_ extra. I open Gmail.

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 5 at 7:19 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Snow!
> 
> Blue,
> 
> Look outside! I can’t believe it. Actual flurries on the first day back at school. Any chance this will turn into another Snowpocalypse? Because I’d be really, really cool with having the rest of the week off. God, it’s been a weird fucking day. I don’t even know what to tell you other than the fact that being out to the universe is completely exhausting.
> 
> Seriously, I’m just totally spent.
> 
> Do you ever get so angry you start crying? And do you ever feel guilty for getting angry? Tell me I’m not weird.
> 
> Love,  
>  Jacques
> 
>  

My heart hurts. Like, it actually hurts. Not the sweet ache I felt around Simon this afternoon. I’m so sorry for him. So sorry that he has to go through this. And that he thinks he’s alone.

I can’t answer him right away. I have to think this through.

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 5 at 10:01 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Snow!
> 
> I don’t think you’re weird. It sounds like you’ve had a shitty day, and I wish there was a way for me to make it better. Maybe Elliott Smith helps. He helped me when I was sad, so I guess I owe you a thank you for introducing me to his music. Have you tried eating your feelings? I hear Oreos can be therapeutic. Also, I’m not really the one to talk here, but you really shouldn’t feel guilty for getting angry – especially if I’m right about what’s making you angry.
> 
> Okay. I have to tell you something, and I think it maybe something upsetting. I actually don’t think my timing could be worse, but I can’t think of any way around it. It’s just unfair to keep being silent about it at this point, so here goes:
> 
> Jacques, I think I know who you are.
> 
> Love,  
>  Blue


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the shortest chapter so far, but that's kinda on purpose. Prepare for some saaaaaaaad.  
> I'll update again after my work shift!

I have to keep me physically distracted to not check my phone every second after school the next day. Simon’s not going to answer until he’s home from Drama Club.

Garrett, Nick, David and I strike down our local public soccer field in town and practice a few passes. But not even kicking the ball straight over Nick’s head into the net of the goals keeps my mind off Simon.

How is he going to react? If he told me he knew who I was I’d panic and probably move to a rural village in Norway or something. But Simon is different. Not only is he more outgoing and open than I will ever be, no, he’s also so much cooler. He handles someone outing him all of a sudden with so much calmness. God, he even feels guilty for getting angry at – I’m assuming – the person who outed him!

_I really do love him._

We keep playing until eight and it’s already dark and really cold when I get home. Mom’s off for a date night with Paul, so I prepare a sandwich for myself and take it with me in my room. There, I read the new email I got from Simon.

He sent me a list of five points that are all guesses as to who I am. My stomach grumbles, and I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m really craving my sandwich or because I’m actually scared that Simon made a _whole list_. Maybe I’ve been even more obvious than I’d thought.

 

 

> 1\. You share a first name with a former US president.

 

Abraham Lincoln, so yes. My heart flutters.

 

 

> 2\. And a comic book character.
> 
>  

Well, it’s true, even though I didn’t know Simon was that much into comics that he knew the character of Dreadknight’s actual name is Bram Velsing. But maybe he researched. Maybe he’s looking for Blue to be me.

 

 

> 3\. You like to draw.

 

The flutter in my heart stops as if the thousands of tiny butterflies in it just turned into stone.

 

 

> 4\. You have blue eyes.

 

No.

 

 

> 5\. And you once pushed me down a dark hallway in a rolling chair.

 

It’s silly. I actually feel the tears building up somewhere inside me, it almost feels like acid rising up. Obviously, Simon wasn’t looking for Blue to be me, but he _was_ looking for Blue to be someone else. He was looking for Blue to be Cal Price.

I just know by his guesses. Blue eyes. Blue like the _freaking_ eyes of Calvin Price. Does he like to draw? Well, _apparently_. Comic book character? Cal Durham. Former US president? Obviously.

I shake my head, slowly, my hands are shaking a bit, too. This is taking the wrong turn. It’s going in the direction I feared it’d go; Simon imagining someone completely else. When I’d have agreed to meet him in person last year, he’d been disappointed. Because it’s me, not _Calvin fucking Price._

I write my answers to his completely wrong guesses back and send the email without signing it with love. Something in me just broke. Again. But this time, it feels so much rawer. It feels like a straight up rejection. Like unrequited love.

I drown myself in my what feels like 100th rewatch of the original Spiderman movies on Netflix. I don’t even eat my sandwich. It's pathetic, I know. I see the notification right when Simon’s email enters my inbox, but I don’t even care to read it straight away.

I do, however, at some time during the night. My mom’s already come home and I can tell by her steps that she’s tipsy. Simon assumes in his email that I know it’s him because of the post on creeksecrets. And he still signs his texts with fucking Jacques.

I reply in the morning right before I head off to school. It’s the last thing I want to do, to be honest. But although I’m hurt, I can’t bring it over myself to actually admit to him that I saw this disgusting post. I know he’d be ashamed. And I knew before that that it was him. So I tell him that.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we've officially reached the point where the chapters stop being edited. I'll try to continue posting every morning at least, but I still need to add in some things into the story here and there. And I really, really want to start writing the sequel but work CONSUMES me atm -.- The road trip I'm saving up for better be worth it :D
> 
> AND WHAT THE ACTUAL HE last time I checked there were like 120 kudos and now it's more than twice that! THANK YOU <3

I put all of my mind into soccer. I can feel it in my muscles, even in my head, that I need to cut back on it, but I can’t. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me busy from being sad about Simon.

Garrett is pissed because I ditch him and David at WaHo the next evening, but I don’t even care. I mean, as soon as I decided I wouldn’t go, I felt guilty, but still, I much rather lay in bed, suffering alone.

 

On Thursday morning, there is some new gossip. Apparently, Cal outed himself to be bisexual, which is just – _great_. I feel like I’m going to explode with anger at any given second. I made it a habit to wear headphones during lunch because I can’t even hear Simon's voice without aching.

Even though my phone has no signal, I still scroll through our latest emails under the table. I probably shouldn’t do that, since it’s making me more and more upset. But I can’t. It feels like I need to full on break before I can piece myself back together.

 

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 7 at 6:39 AM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Really?
> 
> Blue,
> 
> Well, you got me there. Didn’t know you were into French. So, yes, 'Jacques a dit' translates to ‚Simon says‘, which really sums up about all that I’ve learned in French class.
> 
> This feels really freaking weird, now that you know who I am. I feel kind of naked. Haha. It would really help me if you got out of your clothes as well, Blue. Tell me who you are.
> 
> Love,  
>  Simon

 

 

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 7 at 9:51 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Really?
> 
> It’s way too cold to get naked. I’m sorry, Simon.
> 
> – Blue

 

 

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 7 at 10:03 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Really?
> 
> Shit, I’m really sorry if I was stepping on your toe with that last email. I didn’t mean to push you into revealing.
> 
> Love,  
>  Simon

 

 

I didn’t answer after that, and it’s been two days. We’ve been without contact for longer than that, but this time it feels wrong. It feels like the awkward silence when you’re alone with a friend of your friend that you don’t know.

I’m listening to the weeknd’s newest album. It sounds cruel, but I’m kind of thankful for Selena Gomez dumping him, because I really, _really_ need these songs right now.

 

***

 

„Okay, can we just talk?“

I’m walking out of the school building after soccer practice that same day. Dawn is already cracking in when Garrett grabs my shoulder from behind.

I turn around. „I’m not coming to WaHo again tonight, just shut up about it.“

„No!“, he says and his voice is deeper than usual. His mouth is a straight line and the many freckles on his cheek that usually make him look really friendly are barely visible due to the lack of daylight. „This is not about the fucking WaHo!“

„What is it about then?“ I ask, a little bit of my own anger dripping out of my mouth. I have a bit of height on him, and he actually backs away a bit when I straighten my back all the way.

„What is up with you?“, he asks, calmer now. His dark red hair looks brown in the last light of the sun.

All the anger is boiling inside of me like hot, thick tomato soup. But this is not about Garrett. It’s not even about Simon. I’m sad because of him, but _angry_? If anything I’m angry at myself for truly believing Simon could be looking out for _me_.

„It’s about Jacques.“ It’s not a question, it’s a statement Garrett makes.

I can’t speak but nod.

„Bram, you can talk to me about it“, he says and wraps an arm around my shoulders. We’re slowly moving toward my car.

„It’s Simon“, I blurt out, „Simon Spier.“

Garrett raises his eyebrows. „Jacques is Simon Spier?“

I nod.

„Well, you don’t seem too happy about that“, he observes.

We have reached my car. I don’t know if I’m supposed to take him home or if he’s still in on the WaHo thing with David. I shake my head slowly. „It’s complicated.“

„Geez“, he makes and takes his arm away from my shoulders, „Come on, bro, you were just emailing, not even sexting if I got that right. If you’re not into him just friendzone him.“

„You know what complicated means, right?“ I look at him. „It’s not that easy.“

He pretzels his arms in front of his chest. „Well, I could try and give you some better advice if you would’ve told me about it already.“

I let out a shaky sigh. There’s no one in the parking lot but us. A few cars are still there, but no people are around. „Simon doesn’t know it’s me who he’s emailing. In fact, he believes it’s someone else.“

„Who?“

„Cal Price.“

Garrett furrows his eyebrows. „And you’re scared that he’s going to be disappointed when he finds out it’s you, regarding that you are not…“

„White.“

„That’s not what I meant to say.“

„I know.“ I roll my eyes. „But seriously, I’m no Cal Price. I don’t have these cute bangs or ocean blue eyes.“

„It’s not like you’re not handsome.“

„Thank you?“

„Come on, Bram.“ Now it’s him rolling his eyes. „Don’t play insecure. That’s what love is about. It’s about fighting for it. If I got you right then you like Simon? So, then fight for him to like you back. It’s not nearly as complicated as you make it.“

„But he’s obviously already into Cal.“

„Can you just…not be such a baby?“ He almost laughs. „You can take on that Cal-dude if you were a little more offensive. But you’re not acting on your little email-crush whatsoever.“

A little part of my mind nudges the other one, admitting that Garrett’s made a point there. It’s not like Simon’s draping himself all over Cal. I can still turn things around. And maybe, just maybe, now that he knows Blue is not Cal, he’ll lose interest in him.

 

***

 

I end up in a booth at WaHo with Garrett, David, and Michael. It’s a good feeling to feed my mind with empty calories and sugar instead of destructive thoughts. I turn my phone off that evening. For once I don’t want to know if Simon wrote to me.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> halli hallo, I don't really like this chapter - I edited it like 100 times - so YAY

The next time I check my Gmail inbox is the next day right after I get home. It’s Friday, so no soccer practice or WaHo catch-ups. There’s a note left for me on the kitchen table that says we’re going to have dinner with Paul and Morgan tonight and that I should please vacuum my room. Because we are surely going to eat _in my room_.

However, I do so and then settle in front of the TV with my laptop. I open Gmail like I’ve done so many times in the past months.

 

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 9 at 8:23 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Really?
> 
> I mean, I get it. Just because I was careless doesn’t mean it’s fair to push you into revealing yourself before you’re ready. And believe me, I’m the freaking expert on that. But now you know my superhero identity and I don’t know yours – and that’s weird, right?
> 
> I don’t know what else to say. Anonymity served a purpose for us, and I get that. But now I want to know you for real.
> 
> Love,  
>  Simon

 

My heart still does a tiny jump whenever I see the word love written by him.

 

 

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 10 at 2:12 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Really?
> 
> Well, Blue is kind of my superhero identity, so you’re really talking about my civilian identity. But that’s obviously miles away from the point. It’s just that I don’t know what else to say. I’m truly sorry, Simon. I just can’t.
> 
> Anyway, it looks like things are working out the way you wanted them to. So, good for you.
> 
> – Blue

 

I can’t help it. I have to sneak in a tiny wink at Cal’s outing. The moment I press send I don’t even care if it sounds snappy or mean. It’s unfair. And Garrett’s words did light a tiny spark of hope inside of me, but whenever I’m alone, looking through these emails, I can’t help but imagine Simon thinking about Cal all along. And that really fucking hurts.

I’m still on the couch when my laptop announces a new email.

 

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 10 at 3:45 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Really?
> 
> Working out the way I wanted them to? What the heck are you talking about?
> 
> ???  
>  – Simon

 

I let out a long breath of air, then shut the laptop. I feel exhausted. Exhausted from playing soccer all week and thinking too long and too hard about a boy I have no chance with. I seriously just have to get over it. I kind of came to the conclusion, while watching _Sherlock_ ironically, that fighting is not an option for me at the moment. I feel like I have to hide back and lick my wounds.

 

***

 

I really start to enjoy Paul’s company. We talk a lot about soccer and cars. Two things I really like. And Morgan gets on really well with my mother. It kind of feels like we’re having dinner as a family this evening, which is actually quite nice. My first thought is to write my feelings down in a an email and send it to Jacques. But at least I think of it as Jacques and not Simon.

When Paul wraps an arm around my mother’s shoulders and pulls her into him, Morgan nudges my elbow. „D’you wanna go to your room or something?“, she asks in a lower voice.

I get that she’s not about the parents PDA thing. „Sure.“

We get up and walk through the hallway towards my room. I turn the lights on for her, I’d find my way here blind.

„I swear, your house is like a freaking mansion.“ She closes my door behind her. „What’s your mom’s job again?“

„She’s an epidemiologist.“

„Like a doctor.“

„Kind of. Not really, though.“

She plops down onto my bed. „Alright.“

I stay standing in the middle of the room, in equal distance to the bed as to my desk.

Morgan inhales audibly, „You don’t think I’m weird, do you?“

My eyes snap at her. She’s wearing a long-sleeved dress with quite some cleavage. It makes her look a couple years older. „Why would I think you’re weird?“

„Because I tried to kiss you.“

I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Can we not just get it over with already?

„It’s just“ She shrugs helplessly. „I had this little crush on you. It wasn’t a major thing, I swear. I just really liked watching you play soccer. Whatever. Then my dad tells me he had a girlfriend who just so happens to be Miss Greenfeld. And I was like _This has to be a sign, right?_ “

„Ya, it wasn’t“, I say.

„Obviously.“ She cracks a small smile at me. „And I’m over it, honestly. Like I said, it wasn’t anything drastic. I wasn’t imagining our wedding like I did when I was obsessed with Harry Styles.“

„Now I think you’re weird.“

„Come on. You’re gay and don’t have a crush on Harry Styles?“

„I mean—“

„Have you seen him?“

„He’s handsome.“

„He’s _beautiful_.“

„Alright, Morgan.“ I let out a laugh. And she joins me after a couple of seconds.

„So…friends?“

„More like siblings I’d say.“

„Oh my god, this is happening so fast, right?“ She brushes a strand of hair out of her pretty face. „They’re like teenagers. Holding hands underneath the table…and _these looks_.“

„Ew“, we make synchronically.

 

***

 

Saturday is spent at the local bowling arena with Paul and Morgan. It’s what others’d call a boring ass family weekend, except I call it a good time.

On Sunday morning I log back into my email account. I don’t plan on writing Simon back. Which is a shitty move. But I have to let my emotions cool down for a little while longer. Once I’m back to thinking rationally, I’ll text him. But I still want to see if he himself is trying to hold up the contact.

And he is.

 

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 12 at 12:18 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: Really?
> 
> Seriously, I don’t know what in God’s holy name you’re talking about, because pretty much nothing seems to be working out the way I want it to.
> 
> Okay — I get that you don’t want to text over the phone. And you don’t want to meet in person. Fine. But I hate that everything’s different now, even in our emails. I mean, yes, it’s an awkward situation. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really do understand if you don’t find me attractive or whatever. I’ll get over it. But you’re kind of my best friend in a lot of ways, and I really want to keep you.
> 
> Can we just pretend none of this ever happened and go back to normal?
> 
> – Simon

 

Rational thinking? I’m not about that once I’ve finished reading his email. Not finding him attractive? I let out a snort, but at the same time, there’s this sweet ache tugging at my heart again.

 _You’re kind of my best friend_. I can’t help but feel the same for him. I mean, obviously, Garrett is my best friend, but not in the same ways.

The thought that Simon writes an email like that to me, knowing that I am not Cal Price, absolutely flashes me. Maybe he was just interested in Cal because he thought he was Blue. Maybe he didn’t want Blue to be Cal, he just guessed it. And he guessed wrong, obviously. But that doesn’t seem to lessen his affection toward Blue, toward _me_.

I push myself up from my desk chair and head out of my room. I don’t care that I’m still in my pajamas, I’m leaving my house.


	20. Chapter 20

I pull into the parking lot of Bert’s thrift shop. It’s a quarter to noon, so I still have a few minutes before closing time. The thrift shop is open every day of the week. Inside, it looks more like a living room than an actual shop, and you can even get coffee or tea from the owner for free. Mom and I used to come here and donate my old toys and clothes since I had no little siblings.

Bert still recognizes me when I enter the shop. „Look who’s here! Little Bram Greenfeld.“

I smile at him.

„Except he’s not little anymore. Boy, you grew some muscles!“ He comes over to me and gives my hand a harsh shake. He’s shorter and wider than me, with a bald head but an impressive beard.

„Hi, Mister Graham“, I say, my eyes are already skimming over the few clothing racks. If anywhere other than the internet, I’m going to find what I’m looking for in here.

„How’s it going?“, he asks, glaring up at me.

„Not bad…“, my voice trails off as I’m eyeing every article in the room.

He lets out a small chuckle. „I see you’re awed by my assortment. I’m going to make us some tea. Or do you drink coffee by now?“

„Tea would be fine.“ I flash him a quick polite smile. I wasn’t planning on staying for long, but once I find what I’m looking for, I’ll have all the time there is.

My hands go through the clothing rack with the shirts quickly. It’s mostly old but clean and very soft flannels, and then some colorful graphic shirts. I almost lose hope, but then my hands grab a bleached out One Direction shirt from one of their first tours. I go further back through the following shirts and — finally, behind a Britney Spears one — My heart skips a beat. I knew I’d seen Elliott Smith somewhere before. And now I know exactly where. Bert always had a few of his shirts hanging on the clothing racks and sometimes even his music playing in the background.

I grab the shirt that seems to be the right size and eye it closely. It’s perfectly clean and smells freshly washed. I’m a little tempted to buy all of the other shirts as well, but they’re all women’s fits except for this one.

Bert’s wife Magdalene comes into the shop eventually when Bert and I sit down to have our tea on one of the couches that are apparently for sale — they have been for sale for years. She brings self-made banana bread, which tastes just delicious.

 

We do a quick catch up on things and I have to promise, before I leave with the shirt, that mom and I will come by more often. Mom usually comes here once a year after she went through her closet and cleaned it out, though.

When I’m back in my car, heading home with the shirt in a white plastic bag, a smile forms on my face.

It feels like this spark of hope inside me just ignited a whole damn bonfire.

 

***

 

The shirt is a jersey cotton one with the logo from Elliott Smith’s Figure 8 on it. I get to school an hour early on Monday, and without Garrett, so I can loop the plastic bag through the handle of Simon’s locker. I wrote two notes to go with it. Both on blue-green construction paper, because again, _I’m that extra._

The first note that rests on top of the shirt says,

_I’m assuming Elliott understands that you would have made it to his shows if you could have._

The second is more subtle, taped into the inside of the shirt.

_P.S. I love the way you smile like you don’t realize you’re doing it. I love your perpetual bed head. I love the way you hold eye contact a moment longer than you need to. And I love your moon-gray eyes. So if you think I’m not attracted to you, Simon, you’re crazy._

And under that, I’ve written down my phone number.

 

I don’t need to sign the notes, he’ll know they’re coming from Blue. After I’ve completed my mission, I get back into my car. I’m seriously thinking about driving back home, so I won’t be at school when Simon tries to call me. I’m really scared he’ll do it at lunch, and I have to answer the phone while I’m sitting right across from him.

But something inside of me tells me that Simon won’t do that. Trying to call me isn’t the first thing he’d do. I get from his emails that he understood that I’m easily scared away. He’d text me first. He’d ask before he actually called me for the first time.

 

***

 

But nothing happens that day. No texts and no calls from Simon Spier. I’ve seen him finding the bag with the shirt and his expression gave away a kind of relief mixed with happiness.

I expect a text from him right after the bell dismisses school. But it’s Monday, and he has Drama Club, and I have soccer practice. Garrett notices right away that I’m in a better mood, but I refuse to tell him why. I want this to be my own little achievement for a while longer.

I score some actual amazing goals that afternoon and I actually agree to go and get dinner at mid-town with the rest of the team this evening. However, I’m tempted to rush inside and make my way to the auditorium as soon as Mr. Houlden dismisses us for the day.

But I don’t. I leave it up to Simon to make the next move. Instead, I shower and then take Garrett, David, and Michael with me in my car into mid-town where we reunite with the rest of the team again.


	21. Chapter 21

The rest of the week is the same procedure of getting up, school, soccer, and then waiting for Simon to finally text me repeated every day. It’s become a habit of me to always have my phone at hand and to have it on vibration mode, which freaks the crap out of me whenever it lays next to me on my desk when I’m doing my homework. Basically, my whole desk hums when I get a notification.

But I hear nothing from Simon. Not even an email.

 

***

 

_Garrett: the performance of drama club is tomorrow. Juniors are in the afternoon, you in for skipping?_

 

I throw myself on the bed with my phone. I can’t believe it’s been four days already since I gave that shirt to Simon, and he still hasn’t texted me. There is a sore feeling of doubt creeping up my throat. Maybe I fucked it up, took to long, hid away too deep.

But regarding the last email, he sent me, assuming that him giving up on us doesn’t make any sense. I’ve read that email over and over again, and I always get that bittersweet feeling. He seemed so desperate and helpless, and I kind of get it. I’ve seen him alone at school more and more, even without Abby, looking like a lost deer in the flashlight of an upcoming bus. And he stopped signing his emails with love. But honestly, the rational part of me knows he did because I stopped first. In all honesty, right now I just want to send him an email that just says: LOVE, as cheesy as it sounds.

_Bram: noooooooooo_

_Garrett: you’re such a loser greenfeld! :D think about it tho_

 

I know I’m not going to skip the play. I want to see Simon performing. As of the last few days, I feel like I don’t get enough opportunities to ogle him. We have English and Algebra together, and I sit in a desk in front of him and turning my head 180 degrees all the time would be kind of obvious.

But he’s been absent from our lunch table for quite a bit, too. Either squeezing in some extra minutes of rehearsing in the auditorium or just being somewhere else with his mind.

I’m so close to losing it and just asking him why he’s not just texting me already.

I’m waiting. I want this to happen. There’s no way he’s going to fall in love with me too if none of us makes a move.

Because that’s it. I really do love him. That’s this sweet aching in my chest. It’s love.

 

***

 

The play, _Oliver!_ , goes great on Friday and I’m positive it’s not normal that my heart is almost pounding out of my chest when I see Simon wearing eyeliner. He doesn’t look like his cute, innocent self. He looks really freaking _hot._

That makes me kind of sweaty and jumpy the whole time during the play. I have to think about him constantly, and my mind isn’t even tired of the repetition of the thoughts. They’re racing and racing, but none is ever winning. They’re loud and dominant and I don’t know what to do about it.

I find myself searching on the stage for Simon during every scene, even though I know he’s not playing a major role at all. But still. It’s like my eyes can’t get enough of him.

 _I’m going to do it_. My palms are wet by the time the play ends and we all stand up, clapping. _I’m going to wait in front of the auditorium for Simon and I’m going to tell him_. Tell him _everything_. That I am Blue. That I have this sweet aching for him. And that I’ve been waiting for a text from him all week.

I pretend to go to my car, and I actually do get inside, but only to grab my headphones out of the trunk. I put my Spotify playlist on as I walk back inside and then settle on the floor in front of the auditorium.

And then I wait. I rehearse the words I’m going to say silently in my head, leaned back against the wall, eyes shut. I’m not sure if I’m going to tell Simon that I love him. That’d probably scare him away. The fact that I can’t imagine his reaction to me being Blue makes me nauseated.

I sit on the floor until night cracks in in front of the glass door that leads to the parking lot. My car seems to be the last one left. I let a sigh out. _Well, that went great, really_. I must have missed him somehow. Maybe there’s another door backstage. Now that I think about it, that kind of makes sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? As I'm currently editing the rest of this story, I feel like I wanna continue writing it?? But it has such a nice ending?? Like, it ends a little bit before the actual Simon-book ends, but it's really, really cute and I'm kinda happy with it but I also wanna just write MORE. I don't even know. I love my sons too much


	22. Chapter 22

It’s MLK weekend, so there’s no school until Tuesday. My dad visits and brings another scan of the baby for me to look at. His smile is stretched from ear to ear when he announces that the doctor is pretty sure it’s going to be a girl.

I’m happy for him. And for myself, for becoming the big brother to a baby sister.

 

My birthday is over the break — which I’m thankful for because I really hate being the center of attention at school. So I just spend it at home, eating a lot of self-bought Oreo cake Garrett brought over.

I’m sitting on my computer and he’s half laying on the bed, his stomach popped out like he’s pregnant when in reality he just ate half a cake.

„I’m giving birth“, he announces.

„Not on my bed“, I say casually. I’m on Facebook, scrolling through the Happy Birthday!s on my page.

„I swear, you’d be the worst midwife, Greenfeld.“

Suddenly, I freeze, staring at the screen of my computer. Almost twenty people wished me a happy birthday over several Facebook posts — and one of them is Simon Spier.

I stare at his profile picture for a solid minute. It’s a selfie with Bieber and I cannot for the life of me decide who’s cuter, he or the dog. His post is a simple Happy Birthday! Smiley face. Like everyone else’s, but it makes my heart skip several beats in a row.

_So he can post on my Facebook page but not fucking text me?_

Garrett props himself up on his elbows, because I haven’t moved nor breathed for the past three minutes. „Hey, you alright?“

I close Facebook.

„Totally.“ Not.

 

***

 

I watch a lot of TV this week. Garrett and I finally do the Star Wars marathon we’ve meant to do forever ago. Paul and Morgan are over a lot, too, and Garrett has a hard time getting his eyes off her once he’s seen her for the first time. He hasn’t talked about Leah all that much— probably because she’s stopped coming to our lunch table.

My dad texts me pictures of cute baby clothes almost every day. But not even that gets my mind away from that one thought. _Why is Simon not contacting me?_

No text, no call, no email. Nothing. It’s like a complete radio silence, and I don’t know if it’s because of something I did, something I missed, or something I should have done.

Maybe I overused the word love in my second note.

But he posted on my fucking Facebook page.

I even get so paranoid I wonder if the notes had fallen out of the bag on my way to school, hence he never got them. But deep down I know that’s not true. Maybe he’s just playing hard to get, now that I basically agreed to reveal myself, which — doesn’t make any sense, to be honest. Or he’s just shy.

But he’s Simon.

 

***

 

Friday’s a big day. It’s opening night and even though I have seen _Oliver!_ already, I’m going again. This time with my mom, Paul and Morgan. Even Garrett comes to see it again, even though he sits down next to Morgan and not me, and flashes me a quick unsure grin.

I roll my eyes theatrically but let out a small laugh.

The play goes fine, but I can tell something’s off. Everyone remembers their lines and Taylor Metternich has an incredible voice, but still. Simon looks like he’s somewhere else. My hands are holding my phone like they did almost every minute of every day for the past two weeks. It’s like torture. Watching him one stage but receiving nothing from him.

By the end of the play I make a decision. It’s kind of on a whim, but I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s getting too much for my mind. I can’t focus on anything properly anymore and it has to stop. Whatever it is that keeps Simon from hitting me up with a text, I’m going to stop thinking about it. I’m going to drop it. And I’m going to delete my secret Gmail account.

 

***

 

„You’re so quiet“, mom says after we dropped Paul and Morgan off at their place, „I mean more than usual.“

I shrug. „It’s been an exhausting week.“

„Bram…“ She stops at a red light. „Is there anything you want to talk about?“

I don’t answer. Even my jaw feels heavy.

„I don’t know“, she says and the light goes green, „For the past couple of weeks, I noticed… It’s like you’re always in that shell, you know. And when you came out to me, I thought you’re leaving that shell. I thought _that’s it, that’s what’s been holding him back_. But it was not. And for those last couple of weeks, you’ve been hiding deeper in that shell than ever before.“

I have no idea what she wants me to say. I wish she would have sent me an email saying that, so I could write my response back instead of speaking. Truth is, I’m hurt. I’m hurt because I set my heart on the line, especially with that second note taped into the t-shirt, and Simon didn’t do anything about it at all. He hasn’t even been wearing the shirt.

_I mean, I basically admitted that I loved him!_

It’s like, he sends me all these dramatic emails, pushes me into revealing myself, and once I’m finally willing to do it, he’s gone.

But I’m also not ready to talk to my mom about it. Maybe I won’t ever be ready. I’ve heard people everywhere talking about how your first love stays with you forever. And maybe that’s no different if that first love happened over email.

Maybe, one day, I’ll have a boyfriend, one with other than moon-gray eyes with silver stars in them, and I’ll be so happy it aches my chest again, and then I’ll remember how I felt talking to Jacques. How I felt when I knew for sure it was Simon. And there will still be that feeling for him.

I can’t imagine a world in which I don’t love him. It’s like he is whatever’s watering my thoughts, and without him, they’re just barely moving. I can’t wrap my head around the easiest things. I see his face wherever I go. He’s everywhere. He’s in my room, my whole house, in the streets, even in my reflection in the car window. Because he is my first love, and that makes him a part of me. Which is really fucking scary.

„I’m just tired.“ And I let out a dragged yawn.

She raises her eyebrows.

„What did you think about the play, anyway?“


	23. Chapter 23

I sleep in on Saturday and when I wake up, the house smells like French toast. Paul stands in front of the cooker, all occupied with a pan.

„Where’s mom?“, I ask, hopping onto the kitchen counter. Sitting here always feels better than on a chair.

„I assume in her bed, taking in her beauty sleep“, he says.

„Okay, so — wait, do you have the key to our house?“

He flashes me a quick look and almost burns his hand on the pan. „Well…yes. She gave it to me last week because she always falls asleep before I can leave, so I can lock the door when I do.“

I nod slowly. „Okay. I hope you’re abusing that key to make me some French toast more often.“

 

***

 

After a greasy but delicious breakfast, I settle in bed with my laptop. I kill some time that I should devote to homework by catching up on some web series. And by some time I mean I watch it until it’s already getting dark outside.

Then, out of habit, I open up Gmail. One last time before I’m going to delete it.

This time, my heart doesn’t beat faster, or skips a beat — it just stops. I can feel it standing still for a full moment, before increasing its usual speed by 100. There’s an email. An email from Simon.

 

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: Jan 25 at 9:27 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Us
> 
> Blue,
> 
> I’ve been writing and deleting and rewriting this email all weekend, and I still can’t get it right. But I’m going to do this. So here we go.

 

I swallow hard.

 

 

> I know I haven’t written in a while. It’s been a weird couple of weeks.
> 
> So first, I want to say this: I know who you are.

 

I feel my eyes almost dropping out of my scalp. What?

 

 

> I mean, I still don’t know your name, or what you look like, or all the other stuff. But you have to understand that I really do know you. I know that you’re smart and careful and weird and funny. And you notice things and listen to things but not in a nosy way. In a real way. You overthink things and remember details and you always, always say the right thing.
> 
> And I think I like that we got to know each other from the inside out.
> 
> So, it occurred to me that I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about you and rereading your emails and trying to make you laugh. But I’ve been spending very little time spelling things out for you and taking chances and putting my heart on the line.
> 
> Obviously, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but what I’m trying to say is that I like you. I more than like you. When I flirt with you, it’s not a joke, and when I say I want to know you, it’s not because I’m curious. I’m not going to pretend I know how this ends, and I don’t have a freaking clue if it’s possible to fall in love over email. But I would really like to meet you, Blue. I want to try this. And I can’t imagine a scenario where I won’t want to kiss your face off as soon as I see you.
> 
> Just wanted to make that perfectly clear.

 

I try to swallow the sudden hardness that’s numbing my throat. There are tears building up in my eyes and I have to blink really fast, causing them to drop to my cheeks, to keep my vision clear.

 

 

> So, what I’m trying to say is that there’s an extremely badass carnival in the parking lot of Perimeter Mall today, and it’s apparently open until nine.
> 
> For what it’s worth, I’ll be there at six thirty. And I hope I see you.
> 
> Love,  
>  Simon

 

He hasn’t found the note. It occurs to me at that very moment. He hasn’t seen my second note, because he hasn’t worn the shirt yet. Maybe he saved it for a special occasion. Because that’s a thing Simon Spier would do. That’s a thing only Simon Spier would do.

I look at the watch around my wrist. It’s a birthday gift I got from my dad this year. It’s already past six in the evening, so there’s no way I’m going to make it to Perimeter Mall by six thirty. I’m wearing pajamas after all, and I haven’t even brushed my teeth.

I hop off the bed and open my closet. There’s nothing in there, of course. I mean, it’s full to the rim, but nothing in there is right for the occasion. I rest my head against the wood of the drawer for a second. _Maybe I should turn up at the Mall in my pajamas._

Seriously, no.

I rush to the bathroom, passing by my mother who’s about to head in for a bath. She’s startled for a second and by the time she starts yelling at me I’m already under the shower.

 

It’s almost seven when I’m finally dressed in a plaid button-down and black skinny jeans with rips at the knees — apparently, shops _only_ sell ripped jeans anymore. I try to do something with my hair, but I don’t know what, so I leave it in its natural curly state.

My mom sits in front of the bathroom door, arms pretzeled in front of her chest.

„Seriously?“ I almost stumble upon her.

„You’re asking _me_?“ She stands up. „Bram, my bath’s turned cold by now! I already threw a bath bomb in!“

„Sorry“, I mumble as I throw my pajamas into the hamper, „I gotta go. Enjoy your cold bath, it’s good for your skin. Whatever. Love you.“ I press a quick kiss on her cheek, and before she can reply, or ask anything, I’m long gone.

It’s chilly outside, but bearable. Anyway, I’m gonna make some use of the heating in my car. I turn the key in the ignition hole. My car stays silent. No. _No no_. I try again. Nothing.

I lean back into the back of the driver’s seat, shutting my eyes for a second.

„FUCK!“, I say out loud. It sounds weird in my voice. I normally don’t cuss out loud, I don’t know, it’s just not something I do on the regular. But this is a good _fucking_ opportunity to change that. „Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Come on! Fuck.“

Before I can think the thought to its end, I’m out of the car again, running down my street. There’s no way I can run all the way to Perimeter Mall. Except _I have to_. Because there’s also no way I’m gonna miss Simon tonight.


	24. Chapter 24

It’s half nine by the time I arrive at the carnival, and I’m almost positive that Simon’s already left. I make my way through the people that are gathering around the attractions. Most of them are drunk because it’s a Saturday night after all.

Simon is five-seven, so there’s no way I can spot him easily. If he’s still here. A ringing starts in my ears, faint at first but it gets louder and louder the more attractions I circle around, looking for him. I even watch a full turn of the Ferris wheel to see if he’s in one of the gondolas. He is not.

It’s a quarter to nine. I’m about to lose it. I missed him. I missed what was possibly my last opportunity to make things right. I sit down on a bench in front of the Ferris wheel. I’m actually panting. And I’m sweaty, so this is great. More and more people are leaving, a few rides are already shut down.

Then my eyes fall upon a sign that reads _Tilt-A-Whirl_.

„Oh god, please, don’t make me do this“, I mumble to myself, but I’m already up, following the sign.

And of course. _Of fucking course_ there he is. Simon. Sitting alone in one of those metal pods. I close my eyes for the fraction of a second. I mean, I kind of deserve to throw up tonight for being so vain and taking a shower before coming here. But I wanted this to be — and it sounds cliche — perfect. But now it’s just awkward and sweaty and there’s going to be a lot of puke.

I get on to the ride anyway.

„Can I sit here?“, I ask.

Simon looks up. His mouth twitches a little bit and — _that dimple_. He nods and loosens the seat belt for me.

I slide in next to him. I’d like to thank not only God but Jesus, that I’ve stopped sweating by now. My breathing, however, is still shaky, and I almost can’t get the words out, „I like your shirt.“

He’s wearing the one I got him because I was right. He saved it for something special.

„Thanks“, he says in his cute voice, „It’s Elliott Smith.“

The operator reaches over us and pulls the guardrail down, locking us in. I have to force myself not to immediately ask him to let me out again.  
„I know“, I say instead, looking at Simon’s profile.

I can see it. His eyebrows raise a bit and his mouth goes all soft, because he’s speechless for a moment. Then he turns his head slowly toward me. „It’s you“, he says.

„I know I’m late“, I say. My breathing is slowly going back to normal again.

But then there’s this grinding noise and a jolt and a swell of music. Oh no. Someone shrieks behind us and everyone is laughing, and the ride spins to life.

 

***

 

Yes, I still hate _Tilt-A-Whirls_. And in that very moment, as I’m sitting there, eyes shut, I decide that if anything I’m going to dedicate my life to boycotting them.

I deserve an award for not throwing up all over Simon as soon as the metal pods come to a stop. My brain doesn’t like this sudden shift from breathing really heavily to not breathing at all.

„Sorry“, I manage to bring out. I can’t open my eyes yet. My stomach is still twisting and turning. Although I’m not sure if I’m nauseated because of the ride or because of Simon. Because there’s definitely a flutter in my stomach, too.

„It’s okay“, he says, „Are you okay?“

I let out a long breath, „Yeah. I will be.“

We step off the ride and make it to the curb, where I sit down and tuck my head between my knees. This is awkward. I can hear my stomach rumbling.

I feel Simon sitting next to me. He smells really good, and I realize, I have never been this close to him. Not even when we were talking on the soccer field earlier this month. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.

„I just read your email tonight“, I say, „I was sure I was going to miss you.“

„I can’t believe it’s you.“ I try to make out an accusation or a reproach in the tone of his voice, but there is none, it’s just a statement.

„It’s me.“ I lift my head and look at him. „You really didn’t know?“

„Not a clue“, he says, meeting my eyes for just a second, then looking away quickly.

„I thought I was so obvious“, I say.

He shakes his head.

I stop looking at him, because if I kept doing that I wouldn’t be able to get the words out right, „I think I wanted you to know.“

„Then why didn’t you just tell me?“ He sounds a little desperate now.

„Because“, I say, „Because, I thought, if you had been looking for it to be me, you would have guessed it yourself.“

I can’t look at him. I don’t want to argue right now, all of this, it’s been said and done for me. All I want to do right now is him to wrap an arm around my shoulders. Not like Garrett does sometimes. I want him to scoot closer to me and pull me into his side, kiss the top of my head maybe.

„But you never gave me clues“, he says after a while.

I smile a little bit, „I did. My email address, for example.“

„Bluegreen118“, he says.

„Bram Louis Greenfeld. My birthday.“

Thing number 37 I love about Simon Spier: You can literally read him like an open book. His expressions change so dramatically, it’s almost fun to watch.

„Jesus. I’m an idiot.“

„No, you’re not“, I say softly. I don’t want him to think I’m angry at him.

There’s another silence. But it’s almost comfortable sitting next to him without talking. I can almost see the connecting line we built up through our emails between us. He’s still Jacques, and I’m still Blue. We know each other.

„I’m sorry“, he says finally.

My mouth falls slightly open, „For what?“

„For not figuring out.“ He’s knitting his hands together, he’s still nervous.

„But it would be completely unfair of me to expect that“, I say, „Since the whole point was hiding our real identities.“

„You guessed it was me.“

„Well, yeah.“ The sweet, sweet ache in my heart is back again. It feels wonderful. Almost like Nutella on Oreos. Way too sweet, but so, so good. „I kind of guessed a long time ago. Except I thought … I was just seeing what I wanted to see.“

His head turns once again to face me directly after I’ve said that. I’m feeling kind of brave tonight. His eyes fall from my eyes to my mouth for just a sweet, tiny moment, and I really just want to pull him closer by the hem of his shirt.

Simon clears his throat, „I guess I should have shut up about who my English teacher is.“

„Wouldn’t have helped“, I grin at him.

A light shade of pink appears on the apples of his cheeks. „Oh no?“

I turn my head to look at the  _Tilt-A-Whirl_ that’s being shut down now. „You know, you sort of talk the way you write.“

„No freaking way.“ Now he’s grinning, too. From ear to ear, he could light up a whole world with that face.

Almost all the lights are turned off by now, but there are the moon and the stars above us, and there’s something strange and beautiful about a darkened carnival. Most people have gone home by now and all there’s left are dozens of empty glasses and bottles, tissues from the food stalls flying close above the ground in a soft breeze.

Simon shuffles next to me and I feel him scoot closer.

We are so close to each other now. It’s impossible to think about empty bottles, or the beautiful dark carnival, or the unmoving Ferris wheel behind us. All I think about is him. Simon. Being so close to me, I can feel his body heat radiating off him. He smells a bit like cinnamon. I’m sure he can hear my heart pounding in my chest.

Our pinkie fingers are less than an inch apart and I can almost feel an invisible line trying to pull them together. The universe seems to shout at us Touch already! but we can’t hear. We can’t hear, or see, or feel anything but one another.

„But how are you a president?“, Simon asks all of a sudden.

„What?“

„The same first name as a former president.“

„Oh.“ _This boy, I swear to god_. „Abraham.“

„Ohhh.“ He moves his hand even closer to mine.

It’s not even funny anymore. If I knew he’d be such a tease I would have brought a jacket.

„And I can’t believe you rode the Tilt-A-Whirl for me.“

„I must really like you“, I say in a lower voice.

He leans into me, his shoulder touching mine, and everything spins — but in a good way. „I want to hold your hand“, he says softly.

My heart is in my throat. There are not only butterflies but a full swarm of bees in my stomach, and I’m nauseated to the point of exhaustion, because it’s finally, finally happening.  
„So hold it.“

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters of this story left and I'm lowkey having a crisis over the sequel -.-  
> But at least I don't have work tomorrow because it's May 1st *insert it's gonna be may meme here*


	25. Chapter 25

We wander all the way back to Simon’s car after even the carnival operators have left. We’re still holding hands, fingers laced between us. And we’re just talking.

„I can’t believe you ran here“, Simon laughs, „Where do you live again?“

„It’s not that far away“, I lie.

He presses our palms together. It’s the most wonderful feeling. „You could’ve just called an uber, you know.“

I bite down on my bottom lip. He’s got a point there. „Wouldn’t have been that romantic, would it?“

„No“, he admits, and I swear he’s blushing again. This boy is too precious.

We arrive at his rusty red car. He parallel parked kind of sloppily at a free spot on the street. He fumbles with his keys. I don’t want to let go of his hand. I finally get to hold it, and now I want it forever.

„Do you want me to drive you home?“

„That’d be very nice.“

We eventually let go of the other’s hand to get into our seats in his car, and it almost hurts me to watch him turn on the engine and pull upon the street, because he’s just _so adorable_. How was I calm around him during lunch all the time? 

I stare at his hand on the gearshift. His skin looks so soft, and his fingers are skinny and delicate and whenever he shifts, I can see his knuckles moving.

There’s music playing, but it’s just the radio. His car doesn’t have an auxiliary cord.

I give a brief instruction on which way he has to take, and I can barely believe I ran all that, and once we’re settled at a constant speed on a main street, his hand twitches slightly, but then he lays it upon my thigh. Not that close to my lap, but the air gets hotter anyway. If I were to choose I’d like to have his hands all over me.

 

***

 

Simon parks his car on the street in front of my house. The lights in the living room are still turned on.

„So, that’s your house“, he says.

„That’s my house“, I say.

His hand is still resting on my thigh, and it’s just now that I’m brave enough to lay my hand upon his without possibly fainting.

We sit in the comfortable silence of the car for a little while longer, but then it gets cold, and we eventually have to say goodbye at some point.

Simon insists on walking me up to my door, and I mean, I can’t even handle the level of cuteness anymore.

In front of my door we face each other. I’m taller than him, but not so much that it’s ridiculous. He steps from one foot to another.

„Alright“, I say, „Uhm, what are you doing tomorrow?“

I can’t quite see his face in the dark, but I can guess some movement. He’s driving one hand through his hair. „I’m grounded“, he finally speaks up.

I stare at him through the darkness and eventually let out a laugh.

He laughs as well. „I know, what a time to be grounded. But I do have access to electronic gadgets, so…“

„We’ve been at the _electronic gadgets stage_ for so long, all I want is the real you. In person“, I say.

His head tilts back a little and he looks up to me, his eyes shining in the faint light of the moon. „Trust me, I feel the same way.“

I step a tiny bit closer, leaving him room to stop this if he doesn’t want to. If I’m not going to see him again until Monday I have to take chances. I feel a bit of nausea in the pit of my stomach. Today has been a lot. And this’d be my first kiss after all.

Our faces get closer ever so slowly as if we’re moving through jelly. Simon’s eyes fall shut.

And then the door behind me is opened with an obvious _raaaaaaaash!_ and Simon and I burst apart.

My mom stands in the door frame, arms crossed yet again in front of her chest. She’s in her pajamas but she still radiates that pissed-mother vibe, eyes narrowed, wrinkled forehead, and all that.

Simon’s mouth falls open a bit and he swipes his palm up and down his jeans nervously. „Hi, Miss Greenfeld.“

Mom eyes him with raised eyebrows, but then turns toward me. „Where have you been? You left the door of your car open. Not unlocked, Bram, _open_!“

„I’m sorry“, I speak up quickly, moving my body just a little bit in front of Simon so she won’t even think about putting the focus on him next.

„You were gone for hours without saying anything other than“ Her voice drops an octave. „Gotta go.“

I can hear a small giggle from Simon.

„I’m sorry“, I say once again, „It was kind of an emergency.“

„Well, we’re going to have a real emergency if you do this again“, she threatens, then her eyes drift toward Simon behind me, „And…hi. Who are you again?“

„Simon“, he says quickly, „Spier. I mean. Simon Spier. M’am…?“

His nervous voice seems to give it away to her that she just interrupted us in something very important. She flashes me a capital-L Look and takes one step back into the house. „Okay. Fine. Bram, lock the door when you get inside.“

I nod, and then she leaves.

Simon messes a hand through his hair once again. It seems like a thing he does more often then I had noticed. „I…I gotta get home now. If I’m gonna be any more late my parents are going to ground me for the rest of my life.“

I give him a quick smile. „Make use of your electronic gadgets then.“

„I will. Especially now that I finally found your number“, he says, „Seriously, taping it into the back of the shirt? I thought you were ignoring me for weeks!“

„I thought you were ignoring _me_ for weeks!“

He shakes his head, laughing, „We’re pathetic.“

„Kind of.“

His phone starts ringing in the pocket of his jeans. „Oh, fuck“, he cusses, „Alright. Sorry. It’s my mom. See you on Monday…?“

I nod, still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!-infinity war spoilers-  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
>  my mom: so how was the movie?  
> me: all my hopes, dreams and aspirations died with Peter Parker 
> 
> IM SO SAD HELP ME


	26. Chapter 26

Inside, there are mom and Paul on the couch. They pause the episode of _The Wire_ they are watching as soon as I locked the door behind me.

„Simon Spier“, Paul says, wiggling his eyebrows.

I flash a look at my mom. Now it’s on me to pretzel my arms in front of my chest. And I’m also blushing.

„Come on, buddy.“ Paul pats the free spot next to him. „We’re totally gonna have that awkward Parent-Talk now. Please think of it as capitalized.“

„You know you’re not my dad, right?“ I sit down next to him anyway. I like Paul a lot. He makes my mom laugh even when she’s tired from work, and he brings delicious take away food with him from time to time.

„Just pretend.“

„Yeah, no, we’re not having any kind of talk about Simon right now“, I say.

„Is he your boyfriend?“, mom asks. I can tell she has a good time watching Paul mock me, but that she’s also truly interested.

I shrug.

She sighs. 

„I mean, I don’t know“, I say, „Maybe. Things would be clearer if you hadn’t walked in on us…out on us…whatever.“ I realize I can’t sit still. There’s this giddy, wild feeling in my limbs, asking them to move. There is no way I can wait until Monday to see Simon.

Mom chuckles, „You know that shell I mentioned that one night? You’re like, so out of it right now.“

I lean back into the couch. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. It doesn’t feel like a bad thing at all.

 

***

 

School on Monday is just plain torture. I get to see Simon, of course, I even get to sit next to him on the couch in the back of Mr. Wise’s classroom, but I can’t touch him. It’s ridiculous how frustrated I feel by now. 

Simon and I texted a lot on Sunday. It was almost impossible to focus on anything else that day, which caused Paul to make fun of my lovesickness at any given opportunity. But you know what? I’m not even mad.

I have chem lab after English. Sadly Simon is in another course. I’m sharing a desk with Garrett, who doesn’t seem to waste a single thought on chemistry.

„So are you and Spier a thing now? Like official?“, he asks in a low voice, even though we’re sitting all the way back in the room.

I shrug, „I think so.“

„Did you kiss?“

„We held hands.“

„Aw.“ He tilts his head. „You’re such a virgin.“

„That’s not an insult.“

„It wasn’t meant to be one.“ He grins. „But seriously, I mean, you want him to be your boyfriend, right?“

„Yes.“

„Then take chances, man!“

„It’s not that easy!“ I roll my eyes. „You’re talking, anyway! What’s going on with you and Morgan?“

He backs away a little bit, his face turning the color of his hair.

„Aha!“, I say, „You _are_ dating her!“

„No“, he says, „We talked a few times after soccer practice, and whenever we saw each other around your house, but we haven’t gone out or anything.“

„So don’t talk me into taking chances.“

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. „I was planning to ask her to come to the School Talent Show. Does that count as taking chances? And it’s not like she’d be my first girlfriend. It’s not as big of a deal as you and Simon.“

„So, once the gentlemen in the back have finished their tea-party, we can finally start with the experiments“, Mrs. Stein announces, flashing the stink-eye at Garrett and me.

 

***

 

Once the bell announces the lunch break, I storm out of the lab and up two sets of stairs. Luckily, I find Simon standing at his locker. The hood of his dark pullover hangs over the back of his denim jacket. And his hair is a perpetual mess. Just how I love it.

I step in front of him. „I think we should go somewhere.“

He looks up. „You mean, like, off campus?“

Only the seniors are allowed to go off campus during lunch, but when you’re friends with David and Michael, who are basically craving McDonalds at any given time of the day, you know the security guards don’t give a shit about it.  
I have never gone off campus with them, but they’ve never had any trouble whenever they returned with McFlurrys in their hands. So I imagine it’s no big of a deal.

Simon hesitates, „Have you done this before?“

„Nope.“ Our hands are just hanging off our bodies, but they happen to be so close to each other once again. I press my fingertips against his for a tiny second.

„Me neither.“ He looks me in the eyes. „Okay.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS exciting news: I /finally/ figured out a plot for the sequel!!   
> So we have one chapter left of this story and I want to post it at the same time as the first chapter of the sequel so I can leave you guys a sweet little link ;) I do, however, still have to write the first few chapters of said sequel, so I think the earliest I'm going to post it would probably be Saturday/sunday ._.   
> anywaaaay, thanks to everyone who stick around to reading this! I love y'all lots <3


	27. Chapter 27

The security guards aren’t even looking at us when we pass them. I hand my iPod to Simon who gets really excited about this. He takes a minute just scrolling through my song assortment. 

The sunlight falls through the windshield, projecting golden reflexes onto several strands of his hair. He’s tipping against the tip of his nose as he skims the songs, mouthing the title of every single one quietly to himself.

_I’m so in love._

I pull up on the main street.

„So, where are we going?“, he asks.

I glance at him and smile. „I have an idea.“

Simon settles for „Try a Little Tenderness“, and turns up the volume. It’s a wonderful feeling. Sitting next to the boy I’m in love with, with an almost free road ahead of us, nothing in the way, and the sun shining.

He gently touches my elbow. „You’re so quiet.“

„Now or in general?“, I ask.

„Well both.“

„I’m quiet around you“, I admit, still smiling.

„I’m one of the cute guys who gets you tongue-tied?“ He returns my smile, and that almost puts the sun into shame. 

I feel my hands squeezing the steering wheel. Is this fluttery feeling ever going to leave? „You’re the cute guy.“

Thankfully, we’ve arrived at the shopping center and I pull into the parking lot in front of Publix.

„We’re going grocery shopping?“, Simon asks.

„Looks like it.“

 

***

 

Inside, we get miniature Oreos, a pint of milk and some plastic spoons. I can see the excitement lighting up in Simon’s eyes. He’s like a child on Christmas morning. And that just about Oreos. _I love him._

It’s still pouring down buckets of rain when we get back into my car, and as soon as the doors are locked, I turn the heating on. When I look at Simon, I let out an actual giggle, because he looks ridiculous with the fogged up glasses in front of his eyes.

He takes them off and rubs them against his shirt.

The only sound is the raindrops, falling hard against the windows of the car. They form a kind of blurry curtain around us, so it feels like we’re all to ourselves. It’s not like there are any people outside on the parking lot anyway.

„Abraham.“ Simon looks straight forward when I turn toward him. He’s mouthing my name only to himself once again. I normally don’t like being called by my actual name, it sounds too posh for a seventeen-year-old, but his voice makes even that sound right.

And then, all of a sudden, he’s leaning over the gear shift, and his hands are on my shoulders, and it’s happening. He kisses me.

It’s a lot to comprehend at once. Remember the swarm of bees in my stomach I once mentioned? Yeah, they are now not only in my stomach, but my chest, my head, my limbs, just everywhere. I can’t quite figure out my nose at first, but then I get the hang of it and tilt my head a little sideways.

The kiss is constant quiet motion, our lips moving against each other in a wonderful rhythm that’s better than everything else in the entire world. My thinking is turned off for once. My hand drives up his chest and grazes the nape of his neck.

We pause for a moment, eyes fluttering open, but we don’t move an inch away from each other. Our foreheads almost touch. Simon’s mouth twitches, and it’s the cutest thing ever. I lean in to kiss him again. This time it’s light, feather-soft, like a butterfly kiss. My hand wanders from his neck to cup his face, and his hands are still on my shoulders, and it’s too perfect to be real.

Once we remember we are humans that, unfortunately, have to breathe sometimes, we fall back into our seats, but still looking at each other. It almost hurts to see Simon so happy, and I know there’s the same expression on my face.

„Did you know“ He fishes the miniature Oreos out of the plastic bag. „I was actually hoping Blue’d be you?“

I grab the pint of milk. „No, you didn’t.“

„I did“, he says.

„But when you send me the list, you guessed—“

He opens his container, „I know. I mean before that. I always called you Cute Bram Greenfeld in my head. Oh my god, I just told you that. Anyway, I was feeling guilty about it, because I thought I was kind of cheating on Blue. Plus, I thought you were straight.“

„Well, I’m not.“

„No, shit, Sherlock! You don’t say!“ He giggles.

I tip my fingertips onto the lid of my Oreos-container nervously, „That list… I know you were looking for Blue to be Cal Price.“

Simon raises his eyebrows. „I wasn’t looking for Blue to be Cal. I just thought it was him, because I saw him drawing a superhero sketch once and he has blue eyes. But as soon as you told me I guessed wrong I dropped it. You know…what I’m trying to say is, I liked you, but felt guilty about it because of

Blue, and then I thought Blue was Cal, which is literally the only thing that made him interesting to me. Okay, and the bangs.“

I open the lid. „Yeah, _the bangs_.“

„I mean…“ Simon’s voice trails off. „But that’s it. There wasn’t any lovy-dovy stuff or whatever. Only about you, or Blue for that matter.“

I crack a smile at him as he digs his spoon into his Oreo mush.

„When exactly did you know it was me?“, he asks then.

„I kind of guessed when I saw you at Homecoming. Then again after we met in the supermarket and you told me you were an ‚Oreo connoisseur‘. The Mr. Wise incident…“

„Yeah, alright, I get it. I’m not good at hiding my identity.“

„When I started signing my emails with Love, that’s when I knew for sure. As I said, you sort of write the way you talk.“ I take a spoon full of my own Oreo-Milk soup. „Which is incredibly cute.“

He flashes me a side-eye, grinning. „So…now what?“

„We should probably go back to school soon.“

„No.“ He blushes slightly. „I mean, us. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know if you’re ready to be out.“

I leave my spoon in the mush of Oreos and lay my hand upon his, slowly tracing the knuckles of his thumb.

„I don’t want to push you to come out“, he says quickly, „But just so you know, it’s not _that_ scary out here. Just a little lonely.“

„I’m all in, if you are“, I say.

„All in? Like what? Like boyfriend?“

The bees come to life inside me once again. „I mean, yes. If that’s what you want.“

„That’s what I want“, he says, and his smile is taking over his voice, and I can’t help but kiss him again. And again. And eventually, we forget that lunch break is over, and that our Oreos are disgustingly softened with milk now, and we spend the rest of the school day in the Publix parking lot.

And I could not be happier.

 

**The end**


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